Mrs. Rivers studied me the way people study things they intend to form a final conclusion about. Her eyes moved slowly, over my hands resting on my thighs, the set of my shoulders, the steady rise and fall of my chest. She took in every detail without hurry, the afternoon light catching on the smooth curve of her bare breasts as she leaned slightly forward.
"Tell me how it happened," she said.
Becky adjusted beside me, the leather creaking faintly under her weight. The room carried a specific pressure now, thick and heavy, and she could feel it too.
"He died a hero," I said. "We found two outsiders running from the infected. A mother and her daughter. The order was to maintain course and focus on the mission."
Mrs. Rivers uncrossed her legs, the motion smooth, and leaned forward further, elbows resting on her knees. Her dark eyes never left my face.
Drift, I told myself. Give her something to hold onto.
