I thought of the single pearl earring nestled in my jewelry box—Naen’s earring, found under our bed two days ago. The ten thousand had probably bought his assistant something shiny to match. But I said nothing. Not yet. Every piece had to fall in its precise, intended order.

“It’s going to storm,” I stated, gesturing to the bruised purple sky.

“Then you’d better start walking,” he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, the rhythm a maddening tick of a clock counting down my punishment. “Unless you want to apologize. Right now. Admit you were wrong.”