They know. My heart hammers again, and I breathe unsteadily. “Is it…is it about me?” Why else did they come into the library? They have no pastries! They’re not even eating with us. They came in here…for what? Clearly not to grieve with friends, when Charlie doesn’t even consider Eliot and Tom worthy of friendship. And as Beckett’s calm eyes rest on me, and Charlie’s more prickly ones meet mine, I suddenly feel as though they found me…to protect me. “It only took…” Charlie glances at his watch. “Five minutes longer than I thought.”
