“I used to really like mystery stories.” She had no idea where he was going. “Agatha Christie,” he said. “All of them.” “I remember you reading those, when we were sequestered.” “I can’t read them anymore.” “Okay.” “I think I figured out why.” He took a breath. “In the stories, there’s always an answer at the end. Resolution. The detective confronts the killer; the killer admits it. We know for sure. But out here—it’s not like that. Out here, maybe somebody goes to jail. Maybe somebody doesn’t. But we never know the truth. The real, whole, definite truth. It’s impossible.” Maya didn’t know
...more
