His words landed with staggering accuracy. This was what happened when people got too close. They saw the raw, vulnerable truth, then they took their shot. She should’ve learned that lesson by now.
Before the barb could fester, she twisted it into anger.
“Screw you,” she spat, wrenching her suitcase around and pushing it toward the door.
“Wait,” said Carter. She had her phone out and was staring at it with wide eyes. “The Real Game Master has posted on the Domain again!”
“What now?” Sierra snatched the phone out of Carter’s grip to read the post herself.
@TheRealGameMaster
Don’t disappoint me, Clue Masters! The police are WRONG.
LAR’s “confession” is a FAKE.
Louis Augustus Russell DID NOT KILL ALICIA.
I know the truth, and I can still reveal all in the finale—but you haven’t held up your end of the bargain.
Read the clues again. Don’t take the easy way out like those incompetent detectives.
SPOT THE LIE.
Or this murderer will never be brought to justice.
Sierra grunted. “Nothing we didn’t already know.”
Carter grabbed her phone back and started scrolling through the comments. “Yikes. Some of the replies are harsh. Not everyone’s buying the Real Game Master’s story anymore.”
“People have turned on Louis Augustus Russell,” Beck said, settling his chin on Carter’s shoulder as they read together. Adi stayed where he was on the other side of the room.
“And so they should,” Sierra said. “Even if he didn’t kill my sister, he was a predator.”
Carter shook her head. “But if they’re focused on him, they’re not thinking about who the real killer is.” She began to type. “Why don’t we put Ranielle’s name under the Real Game Master’s post now?”
“You really want your name attached to that without proof ?” Sierra said.
Carter’s fingers paused.
“Thought so.” Sierra rolled her suitcase past Carter and Beck, through the door. “There’s no point. It’s over.”
Sierra scribbled out another failed sketch and flipped the page tostart again. The view of the sunset staining the horizon was supposed to be inspiring.
It wasn’t.
She didn’t know why she’d come here. She hated the beach. Sand got into her clothes, and she inevitably left with a sunburn. The beach had been Alicia’s thing. She’d talked about learning to surf or scuba dive. She’d dreamed of buying a boat and sleeping out in the middle of the ocean. Getting up with the dawn to swim with dolphins.
Things she’d never do. Dreams that had been stolen from her.
The pencil snapped in her hand. She dug another one from the box in her satchel, swiping hair from her face.
She’d been struggling to draw since Alicia’s death. Leaving her pen tablet at home was supposed to make her miss it. She’d been hoping to rekindle her creativity while she was here, but buying a new sketchbook and pencil box had proved futile. Her passion was gone. She’d known, ever since the fortune teller’s room, when she’d missed the obvious connection that red and blue made purple.
Sierra’s time was done. Her creativity had shriveled with her soul.
That’s not broken. That’s . . . that’s incredible.
Her pencil paused on the page as Beck’s words drifted through her mind. It had been a total perception shift when he’d said that in the freezer. To see herself as something besides permanently damaged. To dare to believe she could be good, after everything the world had told her.
