“Stay here,” he said.It should’ve been impossible for his voice to sound steady. Somehow itdid.
“She said she was sorry,” Sera heard herself say again, because the lie had become a reflex the moment Vidar had asked. Because he hadn’t moved away when he should have, remaining close instead of retreating, hovering just inside the circle of authority and grief. Because his gaze kept drifting, not to Rebecca’s face, but to Sera’s hands, then to Alaric’s, as if he were taking inventory. And because this was a public place, full of uniforms and glass and listening ears, and she would not tell the truth where it could be turned againsther.
Alaric didn’t react to the lie. Or if he did, Sera couldn’t see it. His focus stayed locked on the paramedics, on the way they worked faster and faster and somehow still looked like they already understood the ending. There was a deliberate, undistracted stillness tohim.
Vidar paced once, then stopped. He kept his hands visible. He spoke to security. He asked for a towel, for space, forsomeone to call building management. He looked like a man trying to be useful when usefulness was the only thing left to offer.
Sera hated him forit.
The lead paramedic finally sat back on his heels.
He looked up and spoke quietly to his partner. The partner nodded.
Sera didn’t hear the words, but she saw the shift. The change in their bodies. The moment the effort ended and the job turned into documentation.
A police officer arrived just as the paramedic stood.
Then another.
People in uniforms moved with the same urgency as the paramedics. They spoke to security. They began asking questions. Names. Roles. Who saw what. Who was on the stairs. Who was closest.
Sera’s chest tightened when she saw Vidar turn toward the first officer, face pale, voice carefully shaken.
“We were talking,” Vidar said, and it sounded exactly like the first time. “She stepped back and before I could catchher, she fell.”
The officer nodded as if he’d heard that story a hundred times. He asked for Vidar’s name, and Vidar gave it. Calm. Cooperative. Slightly horrified.
A second officer approachedSera.
“Ma’am,” he said. “Were you with her when she fell?”
Sera’s mouth opened. Nothing cameout.
Alaric stepped in.
“She’s in shock,” he said. “Ask me what you need and I’ll get you answers. She was the first to reach her.”
The officer hesitated, then nodded. He held out a small notebook, alreadyopen.
“Name,” he said.
“Sera Carrington,” Sera managed.
The officer wrote it down, precise and methodical, as if accuracy mattered more than volume.
“Relationship?”
Roommate, Sera thought. Friend. The person who had known where she hid her chocolate in the pantry and the person who always made coffee first even when she’d been up toolate.
“She’s my roommate,”Serasaid.
The officer’s gaze softened. Just a fraction.”I’m sorry,” he said. Then his face returned to neutral. “Did she say anything to you?”
Sera’s throat closed.
Alaric’s hand tightened on her shoulder.
“She said she was sorry,” Sera said, and kept her voice steady because it was the story she’d already told. Because it was simple. Because she didn’t dare tell anyone but Alaric what Rebecca had actuallysaid.
