Tyler's gaze doesn't move from my hand. I have left it resting beside the fruit bowl, palm down, where the two bruised knuckles catch the track light at an unforgiving angle; the swelling is dark purple, pulling the skin tight over the joints. He says nothing. I count the seconds the way I used to count steps on a rotting staircase, measuring the drop between each plank before committing my weight. Then I speak first, because the arithmetic is obvious: silence on my side registers as an admission of guilt, whereas a clean, mildly clumsy explanation reduces the damage to an ordinary Tuesday error."I tripped," I tell him, keeping the delivery level and slightly embarrassed rather than urgent. "The stairs by the east entrance of the library. I caught myself on the railing, but my hand took the edge of the stone." I offer a small gesture with the other hand, the kind of self-deprecating movement that dismisses the injury as basic clumsiness. "You know how that stairwell is, right? The ru
Zuletzt aktualisiert : 2026-10-20 Mehr lesen