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“He’s in love with a terrorist, who’s in maximum security prison.” Dupont asserts, thumbs hooked under her belt.
And that’s just… well, it’s true, but she doesn’t get it. She can’t possibly. And Kevin is a shell of a man at the moment, but he still finds it in himself to say otherwise, for Dab’s sake.
“He is not a terrorist,” he insists, voice wavering.
Dupont looks at him with something he can’t identify. It’s frustrating.
“He is not a terrorist,” Kevin repeats.
“Yes, he is.”
“No, he’s not.”
Dupont frowns, and Kevin realizes she’s looking upon him with pity.