Chapter5

Eric's hand paused on his fork. When he looked up, his eyes held their usual coolness again. It was as if my "I believe you" was a pebble tossed into a lake—the ripples faded, leaving no trace. "Eat, your food's getting cold," he said, placing a perfectly cooked piece of steak onto my plate. I stared at the steak, suddenly losing my appetite. In my past life, my entire impression of Eric was just "that super smart guy from the neighboring department." I'd only heard about his father through gossip. Back then, my head was full of Simon. Who cared how the "murderer's son" was doing? But now I knew: Eric was only ten when his father went to prison. He'd waited outside the courthouse for three days, clutching an old pen his father gave him, holding a crumpled note saying "Dad is a good man" until the police dragged him away. "Eric," I put down my fork, looking at him earnestly. "Is there anything I can do to help with your father's case?" He met my gaze, surprise flickering in his eyes bef