He looked at me — barefoot, in a borrowed blazer over a blood-stained blouse — and sneered.

“Grayson, what is this? Bring Your Mud to Work Day?” He threw his tablet onto the table.

Grayson stood at the head of the table. “This is Nora Bellamy. She’s an applicant, a former Northstar employee, and currently the only person in this room earning her oxygen. Sit down, Owen.”

Owen bristled but sat. Cassandra slid into a chair opposite me, her eyes darting between Owen and the binder.

“Ms. Bellamy,” Grayson prompted. “The clock’s ticking. Explain.”

I didn’t sit. I leaned my knuckles against the cold wood.