Daniel turned his head. His blue eyes found his wife's green ones and did not find, in them, the soft alliance of seventeen years of marriage. He found something else. Something that looked like preparation.
"Do what?"
Margaret's fingers tightened on the suitcase handle until the knuckles went pale.
"Someone cancelled my room this morning."
The floor lamp hummed. Somewhere upstairs, a child's night-light cast its small blue circle under a closed door. Daniel felt the sentence land in his chest like a stone dropped into a well he had not known was empty.
"Who could even authorize that?"