Chapter 20 · The Bottle by His Bed

Vivian shoved past the officer at the precinct door.

She didn't ask permission. Didn't slow down when the desk sergeant yelled her name. She knew where they'd put him. Third door on the left, the holding room with the table bolted to the floor and the two-way mirror nobody bothered to hide.

Silas sat with his wrists cuffed to the table.

His jacket was gone. His collar open. There was a bruise starting under his left eye, purple spreading into the socket, and she didn't let herself wonder how he got it.

"Five minutes." The officer behind her didn't sound happy. "That's it."

The door slammed.

Silas looked up. His face was blank for half a second, then something cracked through. Relief, maybe. Or just exhaustion.

"You shouldn't be here," he said.

"Shut up." She pulled out the chair across from him and sat. Her hands were shaking. She pressed them flat on the table. "Did you touch it?"

"Vivian—"

"The flask. Did you touch it."

He stared at her. The bruise made his face lopsided. Made him look younger, somehow. More like the boy in the photograph her father kept in his study.

"Yes," he said.

Her stomach dropped.