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He turns me again, and I step closer when I spin back around so I can speak in an even lower tone.
“Did you burn her body?” The words are barely a whisper.
“Yes!” he hisses out. “I burned it.”
Lie.
I shake my head softly, as much in frustration as sadness. Because he’s lying, and it’s going to get him killed the same way it did my sister.
“You claim you cared for her, then you refer to her remains as an ‘it.’” I give him a moment to ponder that before finishing. “The things you say don’t add up. I don’t know what you’re lying about, but I intend to find out. You’d just better hope I’m the only one.”
He peers at me like he’s trying to decipher the meaning behind my words, and I force my features into a bland neutrality.
Neither of us speaks for the rest of the dance.
He doesn’t bother asking whatever it was he wanted to know.
