Their words are ice chips on glass: I hear them, but I refuse to let them sink in. I can't listen to them right now. I can't let Pharaoh's rage and Sol's endless, frantic lectures and this horrible truth become my reality, or I will go mad before I ever set eyes on Notte again. I listen to my heartbeat, to the sound of my strained breaths in and out of my too-tight lungs, and tune everything else out with sheer force of will. I lift my chin in defiance and stare down Sol, daring him to argue with me again.
