“That’s it?” I ask.
“Yeah.” She takes another bite, chews, swallows. “You know what it feels like to be the one left. You also know what it feels like to be the one who didn’t stop it. That’s…useful data.”
“Useful,” I echo.
“In the sense that you’re not going to treat me like a job with legs,” she says. “Because if I die, it won’t just be a mark on a report.”
I swallow before I answer. “You’re not just a mark, Tally.”
Her eyelashes flutter over her cheeks as she looks down.
Karla drops a coffee refill off without being asked. Outside, a couple with a toddler in a puffy red coat walk past, the kid’s hand sticky with glaze. The town looks deceptively normal.
“This feels wrong,” she says suddenly.
“What does?”
“Being here,” she says. “Eating donuts. Making small talk. Like Henry didn’t just knock on my life and say ‘I’m back, bitch.’”
“That’s why we do it,” I say. “You can’t live in defcon one forever. You burn out. You make mistakes. Then guys like him win.”
She squints at me. “You’re not supposed to be insightful, you know.”
“Came free with the blunt instrument package,” I say.
She snorts.
A notification buzzes on her phone. Then mine. Same tone.
She fumbles for it, thumb flying over the screen. Her face tightens.
“What?” I ask.
She swivels the phone so I can see.
It’s a news alert from one of the local stations. HEADLINE: STATE POLICE RELEASE INITIAL FINDINGS IN LUCY FALLS FALLS DEATH.
Under it, a line of text:Authorities now investigating possible connection to previous incidents.
“They didn’t say his name,” I point out.
“They didn’t have to,” she says.
Her fingers are already moving, tapping, swiping, chasing the link.
“Come on,” I say, pushing back from the table. “We’ll read it at your place.”
She looks up, eyes sparking. “You think I’m going to sit here and calmly finish my donut while the state police start fumbling my case in the press?”
“Yes,” I say. “Because you’re going to eat while I pay, and then we’re going to walk home like functioning humans, not like we’re fleeing a crime scene.”
Her mouth opens. Then snaps shut.
“Fine,” she grinds out. “But only because I hate walking and reading. I always trip over my own feet.”
“You’ve got good instincts,” I say.
“Don’t patronize me, Goliath,” she mutters, stuffing the rest of the donut in her mouth.
