DEVLIN

It’s the fifth time. Starting to feel like I have a superpower for predicting his arrival before he comes. The door opens and Chris’ inquisitive self waddles all the way in.

His eyebrows sit on his forehead, questioning.

“I am still alive.” I rest both hands on my desk, my fingers threading my hair.

He heaves a sigh of relief as though that is what he was waiting to hear. “It’s almost time,” Chris tells me. He takes a seat, his eyes never leaving mine.

I pretend not ...