At home, Carla settles into her seat at the kitchen table, the comforting aroma of Derek's cooking filling the air. He sets a plate in front of her — grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, and rice — then sits across from her, studying her face.
"How was the conversation?" Derek asks, cutting into his chicken but keeping his eyes on her.
Carla exhales slowly, dropping her fork with a soft clink. "Tough. She's scared, Derek. Scared. If that magazine pushes forward with the story, it could get ugly."
He nods thoughtfully. "Did you tell her I might be able to help?"
"Yeah. She said it would mean a lot if you could find out how serious they are about publishing it," Carla says, picking at her food. "Honestly, it feels like we're running out of time."
