And then I’ll put an end to Rafael Gray.
A quarter past nine on Thursday.
Tonight’s the night.
I’ve been dodging Rafael like a storm cloud. Calls, texts—even when he came over and knocked on the door, begging me to just let him know what went wrong and how he can fix it.
I let my heart take the hit, but I didn’t open the door. And now I’m ready for the truth. I’m ready to catch the killer, to find out if Rafael has been playing me since the beginning. And if he’s not guilty, then I’ll figure out how to make it up to him.
“One step at the time,” I remind myself as I put on my shoes and grab my pink Taser. The drive to the library takes five minutes, and the episode won’t be aired for another half hour, but I’m not taking any chances. I want to be there before the killer. I want them to find me there and know they’ve fucked up.
I open the door, jumping back as my brain processes that someone is standing there. “Jesus!” I squeal, clutching a hand to my chest, then immediately letting it drop when I notice it’s my brother. “You scared the shit out of me.” I catch my breath. “Is everything okay?”
He stands stiffly on the porch, dark blond hair sticking to his forehead like he’s been sweating on the bike ride here and a few fading bruises still yellowing along his cheekbone. “Y-yeah. Yes,” he stammers, glancing at his feet. “I was just about to knock.”
My heart is still racing. I glance past him, scanning the street for any sign of Rafael. The coast is clear, but I really wish Ethan and I could just go inside. I wouldn’t know what to tell Rafael if he came over.
And what is Ethan doing here tonight? I’d never send him away, but his presence at my door could derail the plan considerably.
“Actually…” Ethan pulls me back. He’s always been thin, but tonight he seems smaller somehow, shrinking into himself like he wants to disappear. “I’ve been here for twenty minutes, trying to find the courage to knock.”
The courage to knock?Why would he need to psych himself up for that?
The usual open injury pumps guilt into my bloodstream, but I keep my expression light. “Well, part one is done now, huh?”
He huffs a weak laugh, his gaze flicking to mine briefly before dropping back to the porch floor. “Yeah. I guess.”
My fault. My fault. My fault.
I glance at my car, parked at the end of the street, but the gravity in his voice—the way he’s holding himself like he might break apart—roots me to the spot.
“Come in,” I say gently, stepping aside to give him room. He doesn’t move, rocking on his heels. His sneakers squeak slightly on the worn wood. “What’s wrong? Whatever it is—”
“What’s the truth, Scarlett?”
My stomach tightens as I think of Rafael. The podcast. The murders. “Excuse me?”
“Why don’t you live with us? Why didn’t you come to stay at Grandma and Grandpa’s place with me?” His voice cracks just a little, betraying the sixteen-year-old under all that forced composure. “It’s their fault, isn’t it? They didn’t want you to move in.”
I inhale deeply, looking into his green eyes, too sharp and too knowing, just like Mom’s. “You have to understand, Grandma andGrandpa love you very much. They might not show it in the right way, but they do.”
He shoves his hands deeper into his pockets. “But they don’t loveyou? Why?”
“Well,” I start, choosing my words carefully, “they never really liked Mom. You know that.”
“So they didn’t take you in because you’re her daughter? I’m herson.”
“But you’re also Dad’s son.”
“And you’re his daughter. He adopted you. He loved you like—”
I grip his forearm, squeezing lightly. “I know.”
“You were just two years older than I am now, and they refused to give you a place to stay. It’s… it’s so fucked-up, Scarlett.”
Anger radiates off him, a fire that fills the small space between us. I step closer, cautiously reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. “Come in. We’ll talk about it over hot cocoa.”
“I’m not achild.” He shrugs my hand off and starts pacing, his footsteps heavy on the creaking porch. “This is… It’s just so typical of them. That’s who they are, you know? Selfishbigotswho only care about appearances. And it only took me ages to figure it out because…” He stops, turning to face me, his eyes blazing. “Why didn’t you tell me? I blamed you for everything, Scarlett.”
