Shawna ignores the lawyers, mostly; they don’t talk like humans. Instead, she watches Bingham, the way she’d watch slow-motion footage of a car crash or a star imploding.
But what she sees isn’t a disaster. The way he looks at people, with those weird green eyes, the way he smiles, all shining edges. She watches with a cold surety that this man is a killer, and yet. Shouldn’t there be something wrong?
Shawna’s got a good eye, but there’s something missing in Bingham. And the more she looks, the less she knows. The less she’s sure about anything at all.