"You didn't know what it was. Nobody did."
Raphael's fists crackled. "So what do we do."
I looked at the ceiling. There was a water stain shaped like a rabbit with a birth defect and a crack running to the light fixture that had been there since before I moved in. This room had held poker nights and movie nights and seventeen people eating pizza while Jaime explained the spiritual significance of leg day. Bartholomew had traversed every inch of the coffee table with the patience of a creature that had decided eternity was better spent on lettuce than ambition.
"We go to dinner," I said.
Silence.
