A plate of mixed greens, topped with an obscene amount of sliced chicken and shredded cheese, is slid in front of me as I wait for Clayton to answer the phone.

There's a lot of sound in the background, and I can hear Vester shouting that I'm on the line.

Stabbing a bite of salad, I crunch at it, the sound grating against my eardrums as I wait.

"Rose?" Clayton's voice, usually so strong and assured, wavers with a vulnerability that catches me off guard. The sound tugs at my heart, a pang of ...