Neal used to hate silence. He always relished being the center of attention; the ability to twist words and allow lies to slip off his tongue to achieve his goal. He used chaos and confusion as a shield. Silence, he learned, was dangerous.

It was two years into his sentence before it all changed. There was the silence that surrounded Peter and him in the conference room as they worked; the silence that he and Mozzie shared over a glass of vintage wine, or silence in the early morning as birds woke with the sun.

Silence, Neal learned, was beautiful.

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