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“Yes . . . no.” The answer came too fast to make sense. She swallowed. “I . . .” Her voice broke. “I was there.”

Everything inside me locked into place. “You were there?”

Who was she?

She nodded rapidly. “I called 911.”

Jonah exhaled. “Julia.”

The woman looked at him; the pain on her face deepened. Julia. Bryant’s wife. The woman Lane had mentioned in passing exactly once and never elaborated on. She looked young enough to be Bryant’s daughter and also like she hadn’t stopped crying since it happened.

“How is he?” she whispered. My gaze drifted toward the imaging doors.

“We won’t know until the scan comes back.”

Her hand flew to her mouth as a strangled sound escaped her. “Oh no.”

Jonah caught her elbow before her knees gave out. The gesture surprised me. I’d never seen Jonah voluntarily touch anyone. I mean, I’m sure he did, but I wasn’t sure I’d ever witnessed it.

That familiarity tugged at my attention. Julia looked close to our age, but I couldn't remember if she’d gone to school with us.

Julia looked between Jonah and Soren before her gaze found me. Recognition flashed across her face.

“Cali?”

I blinked.

A sad smile pulled at her lips. “Lane talked about you,” she continued.

My lungs felt like someone had squeezed them.

“He loves you. He’s loved you for a very long time.” The words struck like a blow, stealing the air from my lungs. Julia’s eyes dropped immediately, as though she’d revealed something that had never been hers to share, like she couldn’t bear to witness the hope that flickered across my face.

The room fell quiet until Soren spoke. “What happened?”

Julia’s shoulders folded inward. Tears welled again, spilling over before she could stop them. “He told Bryant he was done.”

Jonah cursed again under his breath.

“He said he didn’t want contact anymore.” Her voice shook. “He was so confident. So calm.” She emphasized each word, as if making sure we understood exactly who Lane had been in those final moments before the assault.

“He wasn’t yelling.”

Jonah’s expression darkened. “He never does,” Jonah said, folding his arms across his chest, muscles shifting under ink.

A tear slid down her cheek. “He was walking away.”

My stomach dropped.

“He was already outside trying to leave.”

The hallway seemed to lose all its warmth.

She pressed trembling fingers against her lips. “And Bryant . . .”

The rest caught in her throat; for several seconds she couldn’t continue.

“He grabbed a baseball bat,” she whispered.