“Try again,” you say.
Esteban’s eyes flick to the men with you, then to the reception desk, where no one has the courage to pretend they are not listening anymore. The lobby has changed in the last sixty seconds. It is still beautiful, still warm with honey-colored light and expensive flowers, still smelling faintly of polished stone and money. But now it also smells like the moment right before something breaks.
Ximena shifts in her seat.
You kneel again so your voice reaches only her. “Did he talk to your mom tonight?”
She nods.
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