The radio scanner rumbles faintly from his phone charging near the toaster, low enough to blend into the background until a burst of static cuts across the kitchen.
Every muscle in my shoulders tightens before I can stop them, and Evan feels it immediately. His hand stills against my stomach, and he turns his head toward me.
“Hey.”
“I’m fine.”
Another lie that sounds weaker every time I say it. He studies me for a second, exhaustion and concern sitting side by side in his expression.
But before he can say anything, Elle barrels back into the kitchen clutching her library book over her head triumphantly.
“Found it!”
“Miraculous,” Evan says dryly.
She grins and launches herself at his side, and he hauls her up against his hip. I know his ribs still hurt, because the movement makes him wince. Because now all I seem to notice are injuries. The cut healing across his knuckles, and the stiffness in the way he reaches overhead. The bruise beneath his collar. The exhaustion carved into him.
Damage. Everywhere I look, there’s fucking damage. And somehow, my brain keeps arranging it into the same shape.
Me.
Evan sets Elle down as she dashes off again and reaches for his coffee.
“Chief called last night,” he says casually. “Investigation team wants us back out at the tower next week for walkthroughs.”
The world stills enough that I can hear the refrigerator humming.
“You’re going back there?”
He glances at me over the rim of his mug.
“Yeah.” As though there’s no other answer. “It’s part of the investigation,” he adds. “They want statements from everyone who was inside.”
Inside.
Heat flashes behind my eyes so fast, it almost makes me dizzy. Rope burning against my wrists. Smoke licking up concrete walls. The sound of the building groaning around us.
I stare down at the knife in my hand. “Have they figured out what happened with Stacey?”
Evan frowns and shakes his head once. “Not everything.”
My stomach drops a little, and he rubs his free hand over the back of his neck.
“She’s talking now, at least.”
“Talking?”
“Yeah. To the police—and the investigators.” His expression hardens. “Chief said they’re still trying to untangle who she was involved with. The money, and the people she owed.”
Immediately, I think of the man in the tower. His hand knotted tight into the hair at the base of my neck. The scrape of concrete under my knees.
Evan must see the memory move across my face, because his mouth tightens.
“They’re still looking forhim, too.”
“Do they know who he is yet?”
“No,” he mutters. “But they will.”
