“He’s eating. In the kitchen,” she says. I shake my head, not following what she’s laying down. “The next courses. The … food.” “That’s what most people eat. Food.” The color has drained from Sloane’s face. “Yeah … most …” “I don’t get it—” “You ate a fucking person,” she blurts out. I blink at Sloane once before pulling the bowl back to heave again.
