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I can’t help but let out a nervous laugh because the whole situation is so absurd that if I don’t laugh, I might just cry.

“This is a terrible idea.” He shakes his head.

“Deep breaths, Professor,” I say, putting on a facade of calm and flashing him a toothy grin. “If you survive this week without making me the next strangling victim, I’ll buy you a ‘World’s Okayest Fake Boyfriend’ mug.”

He glares at me, as if weighing the odds of succeeding. “That’s the least of my worries. If we survive this week at all, I’m sending you my therapy bill.”

“Joke’s on you. I already planned on forwarding you mine. You hurt my feelings when you said you wouldn’t flirt with me.” I fake pout. “The fact that you think I’m too unbearable to even fake flirt with is at least three sessions' worth of trauma to unpack.”

He side eyes me, entirely unimpressed.

We press forward, and it’s less like driving through a crowd and more like trying to dodge a hailstorm of flashing lights. Theo looks like he’s about to sprout a second set of arms just to protect himself from the barrage of photographs being taken while I try to focus on not running over anyone’s foot.

Part of me wants to on purpose. They’d deserve it, but we finally pass through the gate with zero metatarsal casualties, and it slides shut behind us with a satisfying whoosh.

I pull up to the grand estate and put the car in park. Theo stares at it like he’s about to be fed to the wolves.

Before opening my door to get out, I nudge his arm and whisper, “Remember, we’re tragically dysfunctional, but still together for now. So try to look both annoyed and mildly affectionate.”

He levels me with a flat stare. “I am only capable of one of those things.”

“Look at you,” I say, lips twitching. “Already halfway there.”

3

VISIBLE PATTERNS

LILA

There’s something deeply unsettling, and a bit voyeuristic, about stepping into a place where someone was murdered, especially when you’re there to microscopically evaluate anything that might stand out. It feels as if the walls themselves are holding their breath, waiting for you to rifle through the trash or mercilessly dissect the contents of the medicine cabinet.

Maybe it’s the sad little remains of police tape clinging to the edge of the doorframe.

Maybe it’s the way the chandelier above us casts just a little too much shadow, like even the light doesn’t want to settle here.

Or maybe, it’s the Mayfairs themselves.

Emily is the first to greet us, stepping out before we even have a chance to knock. The front door creaks behind her. If I didn’t already know what she’s been through, I might just think she looks tired. The kind of tiredness you fix with coffee and eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.

But up close, it’s obvious. She’s running on fumes. The shadows under her eyes are bruised-dark, and her brown hair looks like it’s been twisted into the same bun for days, stray wisps sticking out in every direction. Her smile is warm, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

She’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt, the sleeves swallowing her hands.

When she hugs me, she feels limp. Boneless, almost. I squeeze her once, gently, before stepping back, and her arms fall to her sides like she’s already too tired to lift them again.

“Thanks for coming,” she murmurs.

“Of course I’m here,” I say, squeezing her arm gently. “You’re stuck with me.”

I don’t tell her that it took an act of Congress to get through the front gates or that we’re lucky to be here at all.

She lets out a quiet laugh, but it’s cut off when she turns to Theo. For a second, I wonder if she recognizes him—if she’s about to say something about his history with her family—but she only extends a polite hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

There’s a haziness in her eyes, like she’s wading through molasses both physically and mentally. Maybe it’s the grief, or maybe it’s whatever she’s taking to dull the edges of it.

Theo nods, eying her hand in a way I can’t quite decipher before shaking it with the same stiff professionalism he treats everything. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

She gives a small nod in return, but I notice the way her fingers twitch slightly at her sides, like her body is reacting a second before her mind catches up.