Hazel's POV
"Tell me it isn't true." She said it quietly.
Hazel said nothing.
"Hazel." Rossana's voice dropped further. "Tell me that man is wrong. Tell me you had nothing to do with what happened to Varder tonight."
The corridor felt very long suddenly. Florescent burning on both sides, shadows moving between them, the distant sound of Varder's ward behind that closed door where men were working to keep her sister's husband alive.
Hazel looked at her mother.
"Why does it matter to you." She said it flatly. Not a question.
Rossana blinked. "What?"
"I said —" Hazel tilted her head slightly — "why does it matter to you."
"You are my daughter." Rossana said it like the answer was obvious. Like it explained everything. "Of course it matters to me—"
"Don't." The word came out sharp and she didn't bother softening it. "Don't stand here in this corridor with that face and pretend you care what I've done."
