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We should’ve brought something stronger than tea.

Katherine snatches a decorative lace doily from one of the end tables, humming under her breath as she uses it to dust the surface. “Dust carries grief energy, you know. Nora says. Better to clear it out before it settles.”

She moves to the mantel next, swiping the same square of cloth in fast, erratic circles. A framed photo tips. She catches it with surprising reflexes, laughs too loud, then starts rearranging every other frame like she’s curating an exhibit.

Emily looks at me, eyes wide, and mouths oh my god.

I fold my arms, trying to think of anything to say. “At least she’s being productive.”

“Productive,” Emily echoes, deadpan. “That’s one word for it.”

Katherine’s eyes flick to me as she finally settles back into her seat across from me. “You’re a professor?”

“Forensic psychology,” I say, trying to recover from all the instances of whiplash this woman has given me since I walked through the door. “At Bellwood.”

She nods, but something in her expression sharpens—curiosity narrowing into something closer to wariness. “That’s a particular field.”

“The criminal mind has always been interesting to me,” I say lightly. “Plus, I like details. And puzzles.”

Her mouth twitches. “Then you know how much damage details can do. Especially when they don’t match the story everyone prefers.”

Emily frowns, glancing between us. “Aunt Kat?”

But Katherine isn’t looking at her. She’s looking at me, eyes suddenly too focused, too defiant—like something in her brain has snapped into gear and now there’s no stopping it.

“Did you know her?” she asks. “My sister-in-law?”

I shake my head. “No. Just what Emily’s told me.”

“She was complicated,” Katherine says, the words spilling fast, unfiltered. “People always act like death turns everyone into saints, but that’s not how it works. Victoria could be—god, she could be mean. Not in an obvious way. But she knew where to dig. Had this way of finding your weakest spot and pressing until it hurt, and then she’d move on like nothing happened. We all brushed it off. That’s just the way she was. Except Gerry, of course. I think she was the only person in the world he’s ever loathed.”

Gerry loathing anyone seems like an utter impossibility.

Emily stiffens. “She loved you. She loved all of us.”

“I didn’t say she didn’t,” Katherine fires back. “She did. Of course she did. Love just—it doesn’t cancel out cruelty, does it? Sometimes they hold hands.” She laughs then, breathless, immediately realizing she shouldn’t have said it, but the words keep coming anyway. “I think sometimes you can miss the version of someone you remember more so than the person they actually were. That’s terrible, isn’t it?”

Emily flinches, her body seemingly folding in on itself, and for a second she looks ten years younger, all hurt and disbelief. She opens her mouth like she wants to argue, then thinks better of it, staring down at her hands instead.

The kettle whistles down the hall. Theo’s footsteps are unhurried. I know he’s doing more than making tea. I don’t take my eyes off Katherine.

She opens her mouth, then shuts it again, words catching somewhere between guilt and imminent exhaustion. “I shouldn’t have said those things.”

“You’re allowed to be honest,” I tell her. “Even when it’s messy. We all grieve differently. Whatever helps, you know?”

Her gaze flicks toward me, uncertain, so I keep talking. “My best friend died a few years ago. I loved her endlessly. But I was also jealous of her. She was fearless in ways that made me feel small. I used to tell myself she was reckless, that I was the sensible one.” I let out a small, uneven laugh. “Really, I was just scared. And when she died, some awful, selfish part of me was angry that she got to be the brave one, and the one who didn’t have to stay behind and prove it. I’m still here, trying to face this loss with a kind of courage I’ve never had, because she was the one who carried it for both of us. Some days it feels impossible. Most days, I just feel weak. And even now, there’s a part of me that’s still furious with her that she left me behind and not the other way around.”

I give her a small, rueful smile. “Now that’s terrible.”

Katherine’s mouth twitches, seemingly unsure how to respond. I shrug. “The point is, loving someone doesn’t mean you have to pretend every part of your relationship with them was always easy—whether it was your fault or theirs that it wasn’t.”

Her eyes flick toward the fire, unfocused. The restless energy that’s carried her this whole evening seems to flicker, just for a second, before reigniting. She doesn’t answer.

Theo returns with a tray—fancy mugs filled with tea that smells faintly of chamomile and valerian. I take one, mostly to keep my hands busy, not because I actually want tea. It warms my perpetually cold hands and gives me something else to focus on for a minute.

Katherine reaches for a mug too, fingers jittering as she tries not to spill after taking a long drink. “You know,” she says too quickly, the pitch giving her away, “I’m suddenly not feeling great. My heart’s racing. I think it’s the lighting in here. Or maybe the tea. Or both.” She laughs, a breathy little sound that doesn’t quite land. “Maybe we should do this another time.”

Theo sets the tray down carefully on the coffee table, the picture of composure. “Of course,” he says smoothly. “We don’t want to overstay.”