Victor's POV
Charles didn't leave right away.
He sat across from me with his hands flat on his knees and that look on his face, the one he reserved for situations where the spreadsheet no longer made sense and someone needed to explain the numbers again from the very beginning.
"Talk to me," he said.
"About what."
"About all of it." He gestured vaguely at the room, at the door Sharon had walked out of, at me standing here on two feet in a world that had rearranged itself without asking permission. "About what you're actually thinking right now, because Victor, your face is showing something I've never seen it do before and I've known you for twenty-three years."
I exhaled. Moved to the chair behind the desk and sat. "I don't feel right," I said.
"You're going to need to be more specific."
"Sharon." I said carefully. "Being here. The whole story of it. I keep..." I pressed two fingers to my temple. "Something is sitting wrong with me, Charles."
He waited.
