The question lands harder than I expect, a flash of irritation cutting through my control. “No,” I say immediately. Then, after a beat, more quietly, “I don’t think she’d risk that. Not knowingly.”
“Unless she doesn’t realize what she made,” Maverick says evenly. “Or what someone else might do with it.”
I hate how reasonable that sounds.
“Find out,” I say, turning back toward the windows. “I want everything from that party. Security feeds. Guest lists. Any substances recovered. Talk to our people in the department—see what the cops have and what they’re saying off record. And I want to know exactly howZgot there.”
“And Violet?”
I hesitate, just long enough to annoy myself. “Not yet. If she’s involved, I’ll know soon enough. If she’s not, I won’t drag her into this until I have answers.”
Maverick studies me for a moment, then nods and leaves without another word.
When the door shuts, I return to my desk and pull up the feed I shouldn’t be watching, the one I tell myself is operational necessity and nothing more. Violet appears on the screen, sitting on her couch, her posture tense, and her fingers wrapped too tightly around her phone as the headline scrolls past.
She sees it. I know the moment it happens.
The color drains from her face, her breath catching as if something has struck her square in the chest. She sinks back against the couch, stunned, devastated, and unmistakably afraid.
My grip tightens on the desk as I watch.
Whatever this is—mistake, betrayal, or something far worse—it’s already reached her.
Chapter 16
The First Body Always Hits the Hardest
Violet
The news hits me like a slap, the name Alessandra Moore blaring across every screen and social feed I own. Glossy photos. Screaming headlines. None of it feels real. People like her don’t just die. They burn too brightly for that.
But there it is. Dead at twenty-three. Overdose. A mysterious new designer drug.
I stare at the words longer than I should, my chest tight, my pulse slow and wrong. This can’t be Zephyra. It isn’t supposed to be. It’s controlled. Measured. Designed to metabolize clean, and I didn’t make anymore since the last party.
Still—the question creeps in anyway.
How did it get there?
The name drums in my head as I pace the small living room, guilt threading through my thoughts whether I invite it or not. Ella’s at school, and the quiet leaves too much room for everything I don’t want to think. Cami wouldn’t do this to me… would she?
This wasn’t supposed to happen. Zephyra is meant to be safe. Controlled. Predictable.
But someone is dead.
And the poisonous thought I’ve been circling finally lands.
I killed her.That’s the only option. Zephyra is the only new one out there right now.
The phone buzzes on the counter. I ignore it twice before my hands start shaking, and I grab it just to make the noise stop. Cami’s name lights the screen.
I hesitate, stomach twisting, then answer.It can’t be true.
“Vi!” Her voice comes through fast, already pitched too high. “Please tell me you’ve seen the news.” My chest tightens. She knows about it too.
“I’ve seen it,” I say. Flat. Empty.
“Okay, but listen it can’t be as bad as it looks, right?” she rushes on. “No one’s saying it was Zephyra. It could’ve been anything. These parties are like a walking pharmacy.”
