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Lila: Soft.

Lila: SOFT.

Calla: Shut. Up. You saw the preview and it was already IMAX???

Serena: I can’t spiritually handle this.

Lila: He BLUSHED. And now I’m blushing.

Lila: And also feral?

Lila: And panicking??

Lila: Like I cannot do this. I can’t want this. This is so bad.

Calla: Help is not coming. You’re on your own in that trench of thirst.

Serena: My only advice is hydrate, stretch, and make sure your last will and testament is up to date.

Lila: I mean… I’m not even mad if it kills me? But I also need to not be thinking about this. About him LIKE this.

Lila: Ugh.

Calla: Death by D. You’d make a beautiful cautionary tale.

Serena: Put it on your tombstone. Here lies Lila: overcome by the sheer brute force of Theo’s third leg.

Lila: Honestly? Worth it.

Lila: But also… no. I cannot go there. I won’t.

Lila: I think.

16

MODUS OPERANDI

LILA

Ineed a breakthrough.

Or at the very least, a visual aid that doesn’t live exclusively in my skull and keeps me up at night like a conspiracy-obsessed raccoon.

Because at this point, my brain is just clutter. Theories overlapping with timelines, motive threads knotted around toxicology reports, a dozen what-ifs and too many dead ends. I keep circling the same ideas, hoping they’ll suddenly make more sense if I tilt my head a different way. Spoiler: they don’t.

Theo keeps saying we’re close, like the truth is some low-frequency hum only he can hear. And maybe he’s right. Maybe we are close.

But close doesn’t mean clear.

The worst part—the most maddening, ill-timed part—is that I can’t stop thinking about whatever this is between Theo and me. It’s always there, just under the surface, messing with my focus. I keep trying to shove it aside, mentally forcing myself to the spreadsheet place in my brain—that cool, rational zone where I usually thrive. But every time I close my eyes, he’s there. In a look, a laugh, the way he says my name. And just like that, I’m back to square one.

Right now, Theo’s clicking through one of the files we copied from Baryn’s drive—focused, relaxed, jaw set in a way that’s entirely too distracting given the whole murder investigation thing. Do I want to lick it? I’ll never tell.

But seriously, it’s getting harder to pretend I haven’t noticed the way his muscles flex seemingly of their own accord when he’s concentrating, or how rude it is that he looks like that while we’re wading through crime scene evidence.

“Okay, so.” I tap my pen against the notepad on my knee, trying to focus on anything that isn’t Theo’s bone structure. “Victoria Mayfair’s tox screen eventually showed hellebore. That was never in the official report. Which means someone either tampered with the lab results or⁠—”

“—I am not sure there is another alternative at this point,” Theo cuts in, eyes narrowing.