She shook her head once.

“Then why does it matter?”

Her hand moved from my sleeve to my wrist.

She pulled me toward the heavy wooden chair.

I followed her into the dining room.

The roast had gone stiff on the platter, and the carving knife lay across it where Marcus had left it, a thread of fat cooling on the blade.

Sophia stopped at her chair and set her palm flat on the seat, testing it the way you test a stove.

“Show me,” I said.