The Fire That Wasn't An Accident

through the window. I hadn't slept. The video of

oom, already dressed

voice void of any sympa

N

ess, throwing it on the bed. "There's an architectural awards

ing anywher

d you're going to smile, and you're going to act like the supportive wife. The world needs t

clamped around my arm, his grip like steel, and he pulled me out

as we walked in, a hush fell over the room. The air grew thick with whispers. I could fe

e she

o lied for

e she's even sh

ng to stand by a

host walking through a party of the living. Ethan' s hand was a pe

of righteous survival. And on her arm was Professor Albright, my former mentor from architecture

land in the sea of onlookers. Albright' s face, a face that had once

n't even look at him. His eyes,

everyone nearby to hear. "I heard about yo

eart

I started, bu

integrity. It's about truth in materials, truth in design. It's a

tematically dismantling my profes

hat talk about creating spaces of 'safety' and 'truth.' What a hypocrite. To think I once sa

y career was over. He had just executed it, right

of deep sorrow. "Ben, please," she said, using his first name

is open condemnation. It painted me as a pat

reath hot against my ear. Hi

"Right now. Apologize

For being used as an incubator and a tool for his public relations