We stepped out of the room. The hallway felt smaller than when we'd come in. The walls hadn't changed, but the air had thickened. Like the place knew the conversation had been a farce—and was now mocking us for it.
Thalia walked fast, her footsteps hitting the floor like they were late for a victory that never came.
"He doesn't know anything," she said, not even glancing back.
"He knows. And he lied."
She stopped.
Turned her head slowly, one eyebrow raised.
"Oh, really?"
"Really."
I crossed my arms, kept my voice low.
"He dodged every real question, picked way too many words to say almost nothing... and looked at me like he'd seen me before. And didn't like what he saw."
She huffed. Crossed her arms too, like she was dealing with a wall that refused to agree with her.
"Dante... you're great with metaphors. But this isn't some conspiracy soap opera. We went in, tried to get info, got nothing. Sometimes that's all it is."
"Maybe sometimes. Not today."
