“And how often do you attend her events?”
“I’ve been to two.”
He scribbles something down, nodding.
“We have an eyewitness who claims you were the last person to speak with Ms. Moore before her death.”
My pulse spikes. “That’s impossible. I wasn’t there. I only knew of her through social media.”
Movement catches my eye through the glass—Cami being escorted out with a man in a suit. Panic claws up my throat.
The detective clears his throat. “Do you have anyone who can corroborate your whereabouts on the sixteenth?”
Ella’s face flashes through my mind.
“Yes,” I say. “My sister.”
He nods. “That’s all for now. You’re free to go.”
The ferry terminal hums with low, hollow noise—the slap of water against concrete, the distant call of a deckhand, and the churn of engines somewhere beneath my feet.Late afternoon light stretches the shadows long and thin across the pavement, everything washed in gold that feels wrong for how I feel inside.
My hands won’t stop shaking.
I wrap both of them around my coffee cup, like that might steady me, like the heat might anchor me back into my body. It doesn’t help. The tremor is deeper than caffeine or nerves. It’s lodged somewhere under my ribs, humming.
“That was ridiculous,” Cami says, pushing her sunglasses up into her hair. Her voice is sharp, annoyed, and already done with it. “They didn’t have anything on us.”
I swallow, my throat tight, and my grip on the cup too hard. “They asked about my alibi.” I keep my eyes on the water, afraid if I look at her I’ll crack. “They said someone claims I was the last person to talk to Alessandra before she died.”
Cami scoffs. It’s quick, practiced. “Which is bullshit. You didn’t even know her. They’re reaching.”
I want to believe that. I really do. But the doubt won’t let go.
“They wouldn’t have brought me in,” I say quietly, “if they didn’t think they had something.”
She exhales, sharp and impatient, shaking her head. “Vi, I’m not worried. My dad already had his lawyers deal with it. They shut it down before it went anywhere.”
I finally look at her. “They just… let you go?”
She shrugs, lips tipping into something smug and unbothered. “Pretty much. Something about improper detainment. Coercive questioning. Due process. I don’t know.” She waves a hand. “A lot of legal words that basically mean the cops can’t do shit without evidence. And they don’t have any.”
Of course they don’t.
Not for her.
Cami, the diplomat’s daughter. Untouchable. Buffered by money, connections, and men in suits who make problems disappear before they ever get teeth.
I take another sip of coffee I don’t taste.
I don’t have that. No powerful father. No legal cavalry waiting in the wings. No safety net beneath me if this goes wrong. Just my name, my face, and the slow, suffocating pressure of knowing how easily narratives get written once people decide who the villain is.
Cami glances at me again, really looks this time. Whatever she sees on my face makes her expression soften. “Vi,” she says, quieter now. “This isn’t going anywhere.”
“I know,” I whisper, though I don’t feel like I know it at all. The words come out thin. “I just—what if they decide it is? What if someone lies? What if—”
“Stop.” She reaches out, grips my arm, grounding and firm. “They’re fishing. That’s all. It’ll blow over.”
I nod, because that’s easier than arguing. Because I don’t trust my voice not to shake if I try to explain the way fear has settled into me, heavy, alert, and waiting.
