“Not the alcove — the alcove was ours, mine and Grey's, and some spaces were too sacred for cameras. Not the gas station — too public, too loaded, too much of a story that belonged to midnight and not to daylight. The classroom. Where it started. Where a man stood at a whiteboard and demanded that his students bleed onto the page, and one of them — the quiet one in the back row, the one with the dead eyes — had taken him literally.”