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Paskia sat in a funk, staring at the wall. Since Daventree had sent the link to the Eye footage, nothing had made sense.
“Never did trust him,” Jerone said. His voice was low, and she knew the words weren’t aimed at her, but her teeth ground together, and when pain erupted in her hands she looked down, saw her own nails digging into her palms.
“There has to be a reason,” she said. She didn’t turn.
“Yeah.” A pause. “You already know what I think.”
“And you’re wrong. I know Rodin.”
“No. You knew him.” A clunk, like a screen being placed on a table. “People change. Some of the stories I’ve heard, from Cali, from Cat, even from you—the stuff he’s done has to have messed with his mind. Sorry, but…he’s not with us now.”
The words smothered her, and it annoyed her that Jeron
