She walked for hours after that, aimless, shaking.
Later, she pushed into The Sand Trap. A live band played, the air thick with rum and salt. Harmony and Cass sat near the back.
“Torie—” Cass began, but she waved her off.
She dropped into the seat beside Harmony. “Guess what I saw?”
Harmony looked up, her voice steady. “What?”
“Candy,” Torie hissed. “With Tosh. All over each other. In the middle of the day. They wanted me to see.”
Harmony tilted her head. “Are you sure that’s what you saw?”
“I’m not blind. I have a video.” Her fingers trembled as she opened her gallery—the file was gone. Her phone suddenly felt heavier.
“What?” Her voice cracked. “It was right here.”
Cass reached for her hand. “Breathe, Torie.”
“They deleted it,” Torie whispered, face draining of color. “They’re covering it up.”
Harmony didn’t touch her drink for a long moment. The condensation pooled beneath her fingertips, like she’d forgotten how to move. Cass didn’t notice. Torie did.
Harmony raised a brow. “You think Candy and Tosh broke into your phone?”
“I think everyone’s underestimating me.”
Cass frowned. “No one is—”
“Waiting for me to break!” Torie finished wild-eyed. “All of you are.”
Harmony’s tone stayed calm. “Sometimes grief distorts perception. You’ve been through a lot—”
Outside, a shadow crossed the window—slow, deliberate. Harmony saw it. She didn’t react.
“Don’t psychoanalyze me,” Torie snapped. “You’re not my therapist. You’re the one writing everything down for your next book, not giving a damn who you hurt.”
“Torie, that’s not fair,” Cass protested.
“And you,” Torie spat at Harmony. “You knew Lisa. Did you write about her, too? Did you have something to do with her death?”
Silence fractured the air.
Harmony’s fingers tightened around her glass—just once—ice knocking against the rim before she stilled it.
“Torie,” Cass whispered, horrified.
“I’m not crazy!” Torie insisted. “I just see more than anyone else.”
“You’re hurting and saying things you’ll regret,” Harmony told her.
Torie shook her head, her eyes wide as she unraveled. “You’re writing all of our pain as if we’re nothing but pawns in a sick game.” She looked at Cass. “You’d better wake up, little girl, or you’ll be next. She’s not here to relax and make friends. She’s collecting us like someone who keeps souvenirs.”
For half a heartbeat, Harmony’s face shifted—something Torie couldn’t read, something quick and masked—gone before anyone else noticed.
Harmony’s eyes narrowed. “Writers observe.”
“Writers exploit,” Torie shot back.
