Something shifted in Sebastian's face. A small thing, barely visible, the way light changes just before clouds cover it.
He was looking down at the pavement, at the small crack running through it near his right shoe, and he kept his eyes there because the pavement asked nothing of him, and the two men in front of him were asking for more than he knew how to give right now.
"He is going through a hard time, yes, and…," Demian continued. "He was stubborn. I know that. He was proud, and at the time, none of us handled it well. But he didn't… " He paused, choosing his words the way you choose your footing on unsteady ground. "He didn't mean to cut us off the way he did."
King made a sound in his throat. Not quite a word, not quite a laugh. Something in between.
"He was your friend," King said, turning to look fully at Demian now, his voice taking on a different texture. Harder. Flatter. "Not mine. He was never my friend, Demian. Not really." He looked back at Sebastian.
