"Why are you divorcing?" the clerk asked as she slammed the ID on the counter.
"Irreconcilable differences," Cormac said, flat.
The clerk looked from him to Everly. "Sign here. Twenty-eight days before the decree becomes final. Do you understand the cooling period?"
"I understand," Everly whispered.
"State your reason, sir," the clerk said.
Cormac didn't look at Everly. He stared at the form. "Irreconcilable differences," he repeated, as if the words were an incision.
Everly pushed the pen. Her hand shook. "…no feelings left," she said in a voice that had no private audience left to hear it.
The clerk checked the boxes without a blink. "We need both signatures and a valid ID."
Cormac slid his card across the counter and then, on autopilot, signed his name with the same neat, clinical script he used on surgical notes.
"Do you want a copy?" the clerk asked. "There will be paperwork to file."
"No," Cormac said. "No copies."
"Everly Rose?" the clerk looked at Everly's ID. "Address?"
"Studio fifty-two, East Wharf," Everly answered. Her mouth tasted like metal.
The clerk handed Everly a carbon sheet. "You have thirty days to cancel," she read. "After that the court will issue the final decree."
There was a pause long enough for traffic noise from the street to wedge into the registry's small lobby.
"Is there anything else?" the clerk asked.
Everly's knees went soft. She pressed the pen down without writing. Paper crinkled under her weight
