Daniel folded his fingers under his thumbs. The knuckles went white under the pressure, and he folded the fists, in turn, under his arms. His elbows went over the edge of the table, shoulders hunching, eyes narrowed. He was watching Vaughn's fingerprints move over Rosalie's skin with a red stomach-burning kind of anger that kept lighting and extinguishing under waves of guilt. "What did she want?" He spoke as if Rosalie had answered his question with an affirmative and calmly explained that of course it had been Vaughn.