Owen POV

Diane's hand hasn't stopped shaking since she sat down.

I've been watching it from across the room—the way her fingers press flat against her knee, then curl, then press flat again, the motion of someone who is working very hard to contain something that does not want to be contained. She's been in that chair for a long time. Long enough that I'd started to think the worst of it had passed.

Then she stands.

"I'm going to see her." Her voice comes out at a ...