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“Difficult to miss it when you’re always sitting on that cliff almost every night.”

A chuckle escapes her before she replies, “Thought I was hiding it better.” She looks at her hand for a few seconds before turning back to me. “From what I’ve experienced, only car rides work.”

“I could drive,” I say.

She turns fully toward me now. “What?”

“I drive a lot when I can’t sleep,” I add, like it’s an afterthought. “I could be your personal sleep pill.”

She stares at me for a long second like she was caught off guard. “Why would you do that for me?” she asks.

I don’t answer right away and watch the waves instead, the soft and angry rhythm of them crashing against stone. “Why not,” I say finally. “I’m awake anyway. You sleep, I drive. Seems efficient.”

“You’re very bad at pretending this is purely practical.”

I allow myself a small smile. “And you’re very bad at pretending you don’t need it.”

“Okay,” she says eventually. “Deal.”

We finish the cigarette in silence, then she crushes it out before standing up, “You coming?”

“Yes,” I say, immediately.

She starts walking, and I follow, knowing full well that whatever this is, it isn’t a solution.

We walk farther than we should. The shoreline narrows here, rocks slick with seawater and uneven underfoot. The waves hit harder, louder, crashing straight into rocks instead of dissolving into sand. Then she slows, careful where she steps and I notice the smell before I stop walking and she notices it too.

“Something smells weird…” she says, confused.

“It does.” I know it too well. I stop immediately and reach out, catching her wrist before she can take another step. “Don’t,” I say.

She looks at my hand, then at my face. “What is it?”

I don’t answer and let go gently of her wrist as I move ahead instead, scanning the rocks, the waterline, the dark shapes that shouldn’t be there. There, between two slabs of stone. A body. My jaw tightens as I crouch, keeping my distance because I don’t want no footprints to disturb, no contact.

The tide hasn’t taken her yet. She’s young, too young. Again.

I straighten and turn back to Mireya. “Stay where you are,” I say, my voice has flattened into command.

She doesn’t move, it’s like she already knows. “Is she—” she starts.

“Yes.” She swallows, her eyes flick back to the rocks. “You can’t be here,” I say, already pulling out my phone. “You need to leave. Now.”

She takes a step toward me instead.

“No,” I snapped louder than I meant to, and she flinched.

Why is she flinching?

I lower my voice immediately. “Hey, you’re not supposed to leave the campus during the week, you need to understand that.”

“Are you sure she’s dead,” she asks quietly. “Did you check—Did you check her pulse? Is her body warm?”

She keeps asking the same questions over and over again. I stand up, turning toward her, but her eyes are locked on the body like she’s not here anymore.

“Miss Vitelli.” I shake her softly but she’s still not coming back. My hands grab her, and I squeeze on her shoulders. “Mireya.” She finally looks back at me, a small tear falling down her cheek. “She’s dead, and you need to leave now, okay?”

She nods, starting to turn back before I stop her. “You’re not walking back,” I say.