They turned. Marcus stood there. He looked disheveled, his coat wet from the rain. But his eyes were bright, burning with that familiar intensity. He didn't take a seat. He walked to the center of the circle, ignoring the empty chair.
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Sarah looked around the circle. She saw the defenses down. She saw David, the cynic, looking shaken. She saw Elena, the romantic, looking pragmatic. She saw Marcus, the academic, looking terrified of judgment. They turned
They began. They moved through the chapters—not summarizing, but reliving. Elena talked about the green light not as a symbol of envy, but as the physical ache of wanting something you can’t name. David, despite his earlier grumbling, confessed that he felt a kinship with Nick Carraway, the observer who is never quite the protagonist of his own life. But his eyes were bright, burning with that