-Julien Grayson:
I stared at Pops, my vision going wide, unfocused, like my eyes couldn't quite keep up with what I had just heard.
For a second… nothing made sense.
The words didn't land.
They just floated there, somewhere between us, heavy and wrong and impossible to accept.
My heart stuttered in my chest—once, twice—and then it started racing so fast it almost hurt. I could feel it everywhere. In my throat. In my ears. In my fingertips. My breathing turned uneven, shallow, like my lungs had forgotten how to work properly.
"He…" My voice came out small. Broken. "You said what?"
Pops didn't hesitate.
He exhaled sharply, like he was already tired of this conversation, and stood up from his seat with a firmness that made the entire room feel even tighter.
"In prison," he repeated, his voice cold, grounded, final. "Where he belongs."
The words hit this time.
Hard.
