[He stops himself, finds his breath strained and rattling in his chest. Very slowly, he turns his gaze down to the page and fights to see through the burned edges and creases. There, if he squints, he can barely make out the sweep of Oz's cursive, a few stray letters that formed words that were never meant for Gilbert's eyes.
He sits back, droppings his hands to his sides and stares down at the burnt page, his eyes as empty as the silence that now hangs between them.]
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[He stops himself, finds his breath strained and rattling in his chest. Very slowly, he turns his gaze down to the page and fights to see through the burned edges and creases. There, if he squints, he can barely make out the sweep of Oz's cursive, a few stray letters that formed words that were never meant for Gilbert's eyes.
He sits back, droppings his hands to his sides and stares down at the burnt page, his eyes as empty as the silence that now hangs between them.]
Why...why would he...?