Elizabeth stared at him, a sudden, sharp realization cutting through her fear. She looked into those dark, bottomless eyes and saw the void where a man's conscience should be.
She realized that he had given her the truth, but he had withheld the most vital piece of it.
"I notice," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper that carried the weight of a death sentence, "that you did not tell me what 'addressing' it actually means."
"You said problems get addressed, and you didn't say how."
Rex didn't flinch. He didn't offer a euphemism.
He simply let the silence expand, letting the implication of his words of broken bones, of silenced voices, and of erased existences fill the space between them.
"No," Rex said, his gaze unwavering. "I did not."
