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Two glasses.

One snow boot—no idea where that came from.

My notes spread across the coffee table.

And the article.

Or what's left of it.

Carolina sees the pages. Her expression changes.

“So that's it?”

I follow her gaze. My stomach drops.

“Don't.”

“Is this the story?”

“I said don't.”

She picks up one page.

“Carolina.”

“Relax. I'm not reading it.”

She puts it down. Dani sits beside me.

“You stopped working on it?”

I shrug.

“Seemed pointless.”

“Why?”

I look at her.

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“Because the entire premise of my access was bullshit.”

“No,” Carolina says.

I glare at her. She doesn't care.

“The reason Mitchell offered you access was bullshit.”

“Thank you for the clarification.”

“That's not the same as saying your work was bullshit.”

That shuts me up. Annabeth sits on my other side.

“You were writing the story before you knew any of this, right?”