In the narrow stretch outside Benji’s closed bedroom door, Clay stopped.

His shoulders jerked once, and then his legs gave way under him.

He went straight down onto the floorboards, sliding his back down the wall until he was sitting flat on the carpet.

He hugged his knees to his chest, covered his face with his hands, and pressed his forehead against his arms.

He didn’t cry out or make any noise, but his breath came ragged and uneven in the dark.

The faint yellow light from the kitchen doorway fell across his heavy boots and the worn knees of his jeans.