"Sharona." Winn's nod was curt, formal.
Her eyes flicked briefly to Joey, and Winn caught it—the subtle shift in her posture, the way her head tilted just so, her gaze softening by a fraction.
"Joey." Winn could practically hear the emotional key change. She stepped closer. "I had to come. I… I am so sorry, Joey. I never knew her, but I cannot even begin to imagine how hard this must be for you."
Joey's shoulders tensed. He looked up briefly, eyes glassy and lost. "Thank you," he said.
"Come on. We have to go." Winn guided Joey forward, his hand firm against his friend's back. He'd already had enough of condolences and crocodile tears.
"Winn, can I talk to you?"
Winn's answer came sharp and fast—"No."
"It's about Sylvia."
