Lena

The car had been moving for eleven minutes before Marcus said anything.

I knew it was eleven minutes because I'd been watching the city go by in that particular unfocused way you watched things when your mind was somewhere else entirely, and I'd noticed the clock when we pulled out of the building's garage and I'd noticed it again when we stopped at the light on 58th, and the gap between those two numbers was eleven minutes of Marcus being precisely what he always was in the car, present, professional, navigating Manhattan's mid-morning traffic with the calm efficiency of someone who had made peace with the fact that this...