“I don’t owe you thirty seconds of my attention,” Julian muttered, turning his back on the nursery glass to stare down at his leather dress shoes.

“You owe that boy the truth,” Marcus said, turning on his heel and walking back toward Room 412.

At a quarter to six that evening, the heavy door to my recovery room opened without a knock.

Julian walked in, followed two paces behind by Chloe Park, who carried her navy accordion folder under her left arm.

Julian looked gray around the eyes, his linen jacket rumpled from the four hours he had spent in county booking before his bail cleared.

“Detective Miller gave me five minutes before the deputy takes me to the civil clerk’s office,” Julian said, stopping at the edge of the footboard.