"Take me home," I whisper.
The silence in the car is comfortable. I hold Cody's bag against my chest, his jacket draped over my arm, wondering whether he's woken up yet.
By the time we reach my house, exhaustion has taken everything. I hug Maeve longer than necessary, letting her steadiness soak into my bones.
"You're stronger than you think," she says quietly. "Call me if you need anything. Don't do this alone."
I watch her drive away, standing frozen in the cold air until her taillights disappear. A car pulls in just then — Julian andPenelope. It makes me smile, despite everything, to see them together.
We talk for only a few minutes. Penelope let me know that she called my professor. The midterm isn't an issue. They hug me, and then they go.
I step inside, and my house is quiet. My mother's voice carries from the living room — crisp, composed, mid-phone call. When she sees me, her tone shifts. She sets everything down and steps toward me.
"Is everything okay?" she asks.
The words crumble before I can shape them. The sob escapes before I can stop it, raw and graceless. Her eyes widen. She steps forward and pulls me into her chest, and her familiar Chanel scent wraps around me, and for a moment, it's enough just to let her hold me.
"It's okay," she murmurs.
She guides me to the sofa and kneels beside me, wiping my cheeks carefully.
"Was Judge Ravenshaw there?" she asks.
"We were at the hospital together."
She nods. Her lips press into a line. "I need to tell your father. We'll prepare a statement before the news breaks." She squeezes my hand once. "I'm so sorry, Adela."
And then she's gone. Back to the phone. Back to the strategy. Just like that. I sit in the silence she left behind, feeling hollower than before she came.
I take Cody's jacket to my room. I don't shower. I don't change. I slide my arms into the sleeves and let the cedar settle around me.
I slide into his jacket and let it wrap around me. It smells like safety. Like before. I hold it tighter than I should, as if fabric could keep a person from disappearing.
I curl into my bed and let myself cry — unguarded, unafraid — until the tears run dry and exhaustion pulls me under.
When it’s evening, the news plays in the living room, and I watch Judge Ravenshaw stand before the press. Voice steady. Formal. Controlled. He says his son was injured. That the investigation will leave no stone unturned, that justice will be pursued.
Finally.
But I don't feel better.
I pick at my food. It tastes like nothing. My mother sits across from me, silverware idle in her hand.
"Your father will be home tomorrow," she says. "We'll need to be present for the Ravenshaws. Your father owes a great deal to Judge Ravenshaw — especially regarding the re-election support."
I nod.
She sighs. "I spoke with the judge. They may need a statement from you. I can drive you in the morning." A pause. "You have Cody's laptop? We'll need to hand those over to the authorities as well."
I don’t answer, not knowing if I’m ready to hand it over just yet.
When the plates are cleared, I excuse myself and go upstairs.
The door clicks shut. The room is quiet. Cedar lingers faintly from his jacket on the chair. I sit on the edge of my bed, pick up his laptop, and enter his password.
Wrong.
I go still.
