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“Yes?” I whisper back.
“Tell me what the weather is like today.”
I blink. I couldn’t cut the air in here even if I had an obsidian knife, and he’s worried about the weather? “What?”
As if trying to convey something calming with his eyes, he nods to the French doors behind me. “Look out the window, and tell me what the weather is like.”
After a breathless second, I do as I'm told. My gait is clumsy as I make my way to the glass and press a sweaty hand against its cold surface.
I swallow. “Well, uh. It’s cloudy, but I don’t think it’ll r—”
My forecast is sliced in half by a sound I’d know anywhere. It's a sound I’ve heard before, twice, as it took the lives of both my dead-beat parents.
Bang.
The gunshot reverberates off the walls and rings in my ears. Everything stops—my words, the time, my pulse.
“Penelope?” I latch on to the tranquility in Raphael’s voice like a life-line. “Don’t turn around. Just open the door and take a walk.”
I follow the calm voice. Slide the door open with trembling fingers and step outside.
I suck in a lungful of icy wind and tilt my head to the sky.
You know, maybe it’ll rain today after all.
