Kara’s face trembles.
“Or?” she asks.
I hate this. God, I hate this.
“Or because she knew you were telling the truth.”
The silence after that is absolute. Then Kara steps back as if I touched her with a hot poker.
“No.”
“Kara …”
“No.” She shakes her head once. Then again. “No. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to take the one person who didn’t make me feel crazy and turn her into another suspect because you found some pattern.”
“I’m not turning her into anything.”
“You are.”
“I’m keeping you alive.”
“She is my best friend.”
“And someone was in the dunes today.”
“She wouldn’t …”
“You don’t know that.”
The words are out before I can soften them. Kara flinches. I would rather take a punch. The room feels too small around us. Too bright. Too cute. The wrong place for a truth like this to start tearing through someone’s life.
Her voice drops to a whisper. “I need a minute.”
Every instinct in me says no. No closed doors or distance. I don’t want to spend one minute where I can’t see her face and know she is still with me.
But privacy matters. Choice matters. People who love you should want you safe more than they want you easy to reach. My own words come back at me with teeth.
I step aside. “Bedroom. Door stays unlocked.”
She looks like she wants to argue. Then she looks too tired to bother.
“Fine.”
She goes into the bedroom and closes the door. Not slammed, just closed. Somehow, that feels worse.
I stand in the living room for three seconds, then five, then ten. My phone is still on the table. It buzzes.
Vanessa again.
Is he making you ignore me?
My blood goes cold in a way that has nothing to do with fear. There are many possible explanations for that message.
A scared best friend. A possessive friend. A woman who knows too much about the exact shape of the wedge being driven between herself and Kara.
I take a screenshot and forward it to Sloane. Then I look toward the closed bedroom door. On the other side, Kara makes no sound.
No crying.
