Like I’d saved her.
But I hadn’t. I hadn’t saved her. I’d sent her to her aunt’s, told her to breathe, to rest, to take space. I’d promised her she’d be safe.
And now she was in a closed casket, hidden away by the brutality of her death.
I stared at the floor. I didn’t trust what would happen if I looked up, if I saw Ms. Cross’s grief, or the quiet devastation across the aisle. If I looked at the podium and remembered all the women, I couldn’t save.
The pastor said her name, and I flinched. I didn’t mean to.
Remi’s hand found mine for just a second. A small anchor. Then she let go.
After the service, people huddled. Whispered. Cried into jackets and tissue sleeves.
I wanted to scream. To shove their polite condolences back down their throats.
Ask them what they had done to help her, why they cared now when they hadn't before.
She wasn’t just a statistic. She wasn’t a mistake. She was brave, kind, and she was trying so hard to get to a place where she was safe.
Andhekilled her.
“Don’t, Ava.”
Remi’s voice again, barely audible.
I realized I had taken a step forward, toward the man lingering near the back.
Dane.Sofia's ex... her killer.
His hands were folded in front of him. Polished shoes. Fresh shave. Like he was attending a job interview. Not a funeral for the girl he brutalized.
A sick smile tugged at the edge of his mouth. Not open. Not obvious. Just enough.
Just enough to say:I know I won.
My stomach turned.
“What is he doing here?” I hissed.
“Trying to look innocent,” Remi said, voice clipped. “He has a good lawyer, and the DA said there was a lack of evidence. No witnesses. Nothing that could stick.”
I felt it in my chest. The ignition.
Burn it all down.
I took another step.
“Ava.”
Jack’s voice cut through the crowd. He moved quickly, intercepting me just before I made a scene that would’ve gotten me cuffed.
Again.
His hand gently, but firmly, guided away. “Not here.”
“He killed her,” I said, low and sharp.
“I know.”
