Oz bit his lower lip and looked at his wife without saying anything. He hadn't been expecting the question, because it felt — at least to him, at least in this moment — like one of those unalienable truths that was as undeniable as it was impossible to articulate. He couldn't find the words to explain himself, but he couldn't possibly ask anyone to vote for him as Minister. Because his mother was badly burned; because his sister had a pair of broken legs; because he'd spent twenty minutes holding on to someone else's child; because he'd been left fidgeting with coffee while Thomasina finished up her rounds. Because people had been saying since he announced his campaign that he was unqualified, but now, for possibly the first time in his life, he felt inadequate.

He shrugged helplessly at her.

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