And again his face did something. It didn’t change as much as it reacted, beneath the levels of skin and muscle and bone, some level where emotions wrestle with logic, there was a shift. Something taking a brief upper hand over the other, and he squeezed my hand, locked the door to his room, and led me down the hallway. We walked to the elevator, not yet falling, but going in that direction anyway.
-C.S.R. Calloway
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