“Is Lydia Crane with you, Clara?” he asked.

“She is,” I said, keeping my eyes fixed on Marcus.

Marcus stared at me, his fingers twitching against the seam of his trousers as he tried to read my expression.

“Put me on speaker,” Warren said, his voice cracking with a weariness I had never heard from him before.

I tapped the screen and held the phone out between us, resting it on the polished mahogany of the hall table.

“Warren,” Lydia said, stepping closer to the light of the chandelier. “I hope you have made your decision.”

A long, heavy sigh came through the small speaker of the phone.

“I have,” Warren said. “The assistant district attorney has accepted the terms.”

Marcus took a violent step forward, but the deputy in the hallway shifted his weight, his leather utility belt creaking in the silence.

“What terms, Warren?” Marcus yelled, his voice rising to a frantic pitch. “What have you done?”

“I have signed the proffer, Marcus,” Warren’s voice replied, flat and devoid of its usual professional warmth.

“I am cooperating fully with the state.”