The morning started with silence. Not the comfortable kind, but the sort that pressed against your chest until you wanted to scream just to hear something human. I sat at the long dining table with a plate of untouched toast in front of me, the butter knife heavy in my hand. The staff moved quietly in the background, footsteps soft, their eyes darting away as if afraid of catching mine. Nate sat at the other end, his coffee cup in one hand, the morning paper in the other. He didn’t glance up. ...