The Fallout

Sophia's POV

The hours after the confession had a strange, suspended quality, like the air between lightning and thunder — charged and still and waiting for something to break.

I walked back to the east wing with my hands clasped behind my back and my face composed and my mind running a cold assessment of everything that had just happened, which was its default response to emotional events of any magnitude. It was a habit I had developed in my first life and refined in my second ...