When tears threaten to spill, some image of Thaddeus comes to me unbidden, and that does it. That’s enough for grief to burst through the bulwark. I sob. I have to press my lips together hard to stop making a sound, but God. God. What kind of place is this? And what have I gotten myself into? If I’m wrong about the trial tomorrow, have I damned us all? Have I damned Leo?
