Thorbjorn came back into the kitchen and gave me a look that was something between a warning and a preemptive apology. I raised my own eyebrows to ask for clarification, but he just shook his head.
Then a second man came in behind him, his face a dark scowl, his gait an aggressive march entirely out of place in my cozy little kitchen.
I didn"t exactly know what it meant legally when lawyers on TV asked the judge for permission to treat the witness as hostile. But I really wished there was a judge there now for me to ask that of.
He was very, very hostile. And I hadn"t even asked him any questions yet.
"I"m only here because I want justice for Nefja," he said as he slammed his way down into the seat across from me. He spit the words out in rapid Villmarker Norse, his accent so thick I w
