"NO,"GRAYSON SAID. "But nothing ever is."
She turned that over. It was the most honest thing he had said all week, which was saying something, because Grayson's particular brand of honesty had been in consistent supply since the first morning and the incinerated egg.
"Two more days," she said.
He didn't confirm it. He didn't need to — she had learned the cadence of his silences well enough to know that this one meant yes, and I've already decided, and the decision is not up for renegotiation.
The lighthouse swept. Below them, the sea came in over the rocks with its unhurried authority.
"Friday," he said.
"Cerys."
"You said she had something."
"She wouldn't say what."
He was quiet for a moment. "I find that irritating."
"I know. That's probably why she did it."
Something in the quality of his silence shifted. Not amusement, exactly, but adjacent to it — the recognition of a personality he respected without entirely expecting to.
