Ginny smiled. “Yeah, it’s a theater superstition thing. I slipped and fell right off the stage during a rehearsal in freshman year, which was super bad luck, and after that the name stuck. Mostly because it sounds so similar to Ginny, I guess.”
“Wow. I still can’t believe this,” I murmured, wiping away another tear. “It’s incredible.”
“Yeah, it really is.” Cherry gave me a watery smile and squeezed my hand. “Is that why you transferred here? You were hoping to meet her friends as a way to feel closer to her?”
“Not exactly.” I paused for a moment, chewing on my bottom lip as I mulled over my next words. “To be honest… I came here because I want answers,” I finally said. “They ruled Cal’s death an accident, but I never believed it, for so many reasons. I’ve been driving myself crazy for the last year, trying to figure it all out, and eventually I realized I’d have to come here and look into it in person.”
The other four fell silent again, and I noticed none of them were meeting my eyes.
“What is it?” I asked, brows pulling into a frown.
Jeremiah finally spoke up. “We never thought Cal’s death was an accident either,” he said softly. “Nothing about it made sense.”
“We didn’t think it could be a suicide, either,” Dylan added. “I know you can never really tell how people are feeling inside, but still… we justknewit wasn’t that, right off the bat.”
“She was murdered,” Cherry said in a low murmur.
“Or at the very least, it was an accident caused by someone who never came forward to admit it,” Ginny said. “Not just Cal slipping and falling by herself.”
I blinked, shock coursing through me. “If you all thought someone pushed her, why didn’t you say anything to the police?”
“We did,” Jeremiah said. “But they dismissed us almost immediately, and we didn’t want to stir things up too much because of—” He stopped abruptly, exchanging glances with the other three. “Well… because of the night she died.”
“I don’t understand.”
“She died on the night of the Selection,” Ginny said in a hushed voice. “And everyone knows you don’t mess with those guys, so we decided it was best not to push it.”
“I know that makes us sound like total cowards, but we were honestly worried they might come after us next if we kept hounding the cops,” Dylan added, eyes flashing with a mix of guilt and sorrow.
“Hold up. What’s the Selection? And what guys are you talking about?”
His eyes widened. “No one’s told you about any of this stuff yet?”
“The girl who did my campus tour last Sunday mentioned something called the Selection, but only in passing,” I said. “I just assumed it was a recruitment thing for the secret society she was talking about.”
“Oh, god.” Ginny let out a low groan. “There goes the rest of our night.”
“The Selection is an annual Dionysus Club event,” Cherry explained. “That’s the secret society the tour girl was—”
Jeremiah shushed her. “Wait. We probably shouldn’t talk about this here. Those guys have eyes and ears everywhere, and if they know we’re talking about Calista’s death on top of it all… well, that could turn out badly for us.”
Cherry nodded slowly. “You’re right. Let’s go to The Cove,” she said. She looked back at me. “It’s our fave bar in Blackthorne Harbor. Very cozy andveryprivate.”
We gathered our things and headed toward the exit, weaving through the party. As we passed the stage, a girl in a flower crown called out to Cherry.
"You're leaving already?”
Cherry didn't miss a beat, putting her years of theatrical training to use. Her face transformed into an easy, bright smile, and all traces of our heavy conversation vanished. "Just for a bit!” she called back to the girl. “We're taking Violet to The Cove for their Amarula espresso martinis. She hasn't tried them yet, which is basically a crime."
"Oh my god, those aresogood," the girl agreed, nodding enthusiastically.
"We'll be back in an hour," Cherry added with a casual wave. "Mike is handling the music, and there's still tons of food. You won't even notice we're gone."
We pushed through the doors and out into the cool night air. The moment we were away from the warmth and music, Cherry's smile dropped. Her shoulders sagged slightly, and she wrapped her arms around herself.
"Okay," she said quietly. "Let's go.”
Fifteen minutes later, we arrived at a cozy bar tucked between an art gallery and a shuttered bookstore. Inside, the air smelled faintly of coffee, and low jazz hummed beneath the soft murmur of conversation. Candles flickered on each table, casting golden halos across the dark leather booths and the scuffed wooden floor.
