Hiro looked steadily back at me, his mouth set and his hair stirring slightly as the aspect touched him. As if he was urging me to make the right decision.
I didn’t know if there was a right decision. But I had to make one. It counted, right now. I had to choose the right thing to do, because Graves was . . .
Oh, God. I didn’t even want to think about it. But I had to. Because I’d gotten him into this. It was my fault. All of it was my fault, and once I started laying blame I just would not stop. All of it, the whole huge mess, was my goddamn fault.
Time to start doing the right thing, Dru.
With Christophe to help, it might even be possible. It was all I could do.
I hugged the coat as I half-turned. I walked down to the end of the table, each step taking a lifetime.
I pulled the heavy carved chair at the head of the polished table out and dropped down into it.
The sighs of relief—Bruce and Hiro, at the same time, with Alton’s a fraction of a second behind—were audible. I tried to ignore it. Ezra folded his arms. Christophe stood still, but his eyes were burning. And fixed on me.
“All right,” I said, hugging Graves’s coat so hard my arms ached. “Where do we start?”