Page 66

Everyone else.

“I just think that what you do is risky, Baryn,” I say finally. “You compress timelines. You simplify things that are inherently complex. And once you put a story in front of thousands of people, you lose control over what they do with it. They speculate. They decide who’s guilty. They turn real people into characters and start looking for an ending before all the evidence exists.”

I look down at my hands.

“But I also didn’t know how else to tell that many people who Casey was. I’ve spent years wanting people to remember that she was a person before she was a missing one, and today you gave me a way to do that.” I pause. “I think what you do has value. Really. I wouldn’t have sat in front of your microphone if I didn’t. But value and risk aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“I say ‘allegedly’ a lot.”

Smart ass.

“That’s a linguistic band-aid. It doesn't fix the oversimplification.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Risky.” He doesn't sound offended. Amused, maybe. Then, his head turns. His gaze locks onto me.

“Baryn,” he repeats.

I stare straight ahead. My breath hitches. “Hmm?”

“That’s not a name I use professionally,” he says, his voice dropping an octave.

“I’m aware.”

“So how do you know it?”

I panic. How many times have I unthinkingly called him by his real name at this point?

“You mentioned it,” I lie. “At some point. Actually, I heard your mom say it. When she called. On the phone.”

“I didn't,” he says, certain. “And you used my name long before my mom called, I just didn’t say anything. Also, my family rarely calls me Baryn, if ever. So the question stands. How do you know my name, Serena?”

There’s a version of this where I keep deflecting. Where I double down on something flimsy and hope he lets it go, but I know he won’t.

“I know someone who knows you,” I admit.

A look of confusion twists his features. “Who?”

“Uhm.” I consider covering the name with a cough, but think better of it. “Lila.” It comes out as barely a whisper, but he hears me anyway.

He actually flinches. The car swerves barely an inch before he corrects. “What?!”

“She’s... a friend.”

He stares at me like I’ve just grown a second head. “You’re a forensic anthropologist from the other side of the country. And you just... happen to be friends with Lila.”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t think that was relevant information to share with me?”

“It wasn't,” I say, though my stomach chooses that exact moment to give an ominous growl.

He lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Not relevant? You’ve had access to the unofficial Baryn Mayfair supplemental materials for years, and I’m just finding out we share a friend.”

“I wouldn’t call it access.”

“Lila talked to you about me.”

“Lila is one of my best friends, Baryn. We don’t just know each other. Of course she talked to me about you. She’d mentioned you years ago, long before she even knew about Casket Case.”