The moment they were safely home, Caleb put his fist through the wall.
Faulkner regarded the damage with cold disdain and sighed. “Please don’t vent your frustrations on our home.”
“What are we doing, Faulkner?” Caleb stormed into the study, rounding on Faulkner when he followed. “We’ve been at this for weeks, and I’m nowhere near cured.”
“I never promised you a cure, Caleb.” There was a stern edge in Faulkner’s voice. “I offered you control. And we’re making progress.”
“You call that control?”
“It’s a shame about Josephine’s shop, but I can cover the damages easily enough—”
“I nearly killed her!” Caleb lunged toward Faulkner, as close as he knew he could get before it would start to sting. “Don’t you care? Is she your friend, or just a contact?”
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