Jenna spoke first. She always did. Her fingers shredded a tissue into a pile of fluff on her lap as she talked about being subpoenaed—about the thought of sitting across from the man who had killed her cousin. Her gaze darted from person to person, looking for something she couldn’t seem to find.
“That’s understandable,” I said when she trailed off. “It’s retraumatizing to revisit the same events under new conditions. Being asked to relive it doesn’t feel fair.”
She nodded, though I could tell she didn’t believe me. Fairness was a conceptual comfort, not an emotional one.
Before I could redirect, a low voice cut in. “Fair would be putting him in the ground.”
I didn’t have to look to find out who it was. Jake Hawthorn leaned forward, elbows on his knees and shoulders coiled tight. His posture was nothing but self-protection masquerading as aggression.
Jake was the older brother of Emersyn Hawthorn, who just happened to be my brother’s wife. They’d gotten married over six months ago. The Hawthorns had lost their sister in the same tragedy that had taken mine. Years ago, Jake had fallen into drug abuse, succumbing to years of trauma that culminated in his sister’s murder. But he had been doing better for a couple of years now. He’d been a normal fixture in this group—someone I’d been extremely proud of, and still was.
But the last few months had been hard on him. His control was cracking. I saw it in the micro tremors of his right hand, the dilation of his pupils, the way his jaw worked without sound. The looming trial was taking a toll on all of us.
“He’s still refusing to take a plea,” Jake spat. “Still trying to play the system. And those lawyers—” His voice hardened as he shook his head. “Did you hear one of them is staying in town until the trial?”
I didn’t respond fast enough, and the silence gave him room to build momentum.
“She’s staying here. Right here. Representing that psycho, then acting like she can just walk our streets. What kind of person does that?”
Murmurs started immediately. They spread like a spark on dry grass. The emotion was contagious. Fear looking for an easy conversion to anger.
“Jake,” I said softly, trying to slow it down. The rumors were obviously spreading through town about her, but his rage had a tang of volatility in it that I didn’t like.
Jake looked at me, sharply. “Don’t. You of all people should get it.”
Every pair of eyes swung toward me.
“You lost your sister too,” he continued.
For a heartbeat, I didn’t move a muscle. I didn’t even take a breath. Then my training took over.
“The man on trial didn’t kill her,” I said evenly.
Jake flinched. “No. But maybe she would still be alive if it wasn’t for him.”
The man who had killed both of our sisters had blamed it on Amos Anderson, the Shadow Stalker—tried to copy him to get away with it. And he had for a very long time. That man had died a couple of years ago, but there was still a sense of injustice to it. He never had to stand trial for what he did.
So, I understood Jake’s perspective. He needed to turn his anger on someone who was still here. Someone tangible and still breathing. Someone who could see justice be done.
“We have to let the system work.”
Jake stood, the metal chair legs screeching against the tile. “You think this is about justice? This is about people like her—like that goddamn lawyer inourtown—giving monsters like him a voice he doesn’t deserve!”
I tilted my head, trying not to let my concern and weariness show. As much as I didn’t particularly like that Quinn was staying in town, she shouldn’t be threatened.
“She’s not the one who hurt your sister, Jake.”
He barked out a laugh that had no humor in it. “No. But she helps monsters just like the man who did.”
He took a step closer, and for the first time in months, I wasn’t sure how to read him. His eyes were glassy, almost unfocused. A warning bell went off in my mind.
I stared at him, trying to decide whether he could possibly be using again. That would devastate Emersyn. I hoped it wasn’t true. I had never seen Jake as someone actually violent, but I always second-guessed myself. People were capable of anything, even if you never thought they were.
“You’re angry, Jake. That’s valid.” I rose halfway from my chair, palms open and voice measured. “But turning someone you don’t even know into an enemy isn’t going to—”
“Don’t tell me what’s valid.” Jake cut me off, his voice cracking. “You think you understand, but you don’t. You sit there with your degrees and your calm voice, but you don’t feel a damn thing!”
Those last words hit harder than I expected—a sting that vibrated my ribs.
