Zoe POV

I hear what my father is saying. I am also watching the door.

The room is visible through the glass panel beside it — the light in there hasn't changed, the activity inside has settled to the low movement of people who are no longer managing a crisis. I should be able to focus. I know I should be able to focus.

"Noah."

My father's voice doesn't rise. It never does. It simply acquires a particular quality that has meant pay attention since I was old enough to ...