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“Not as psychotic as someone accepting a highly illegal drug during a taping of a show,” Robin deadpanned.

Snowy’s jaw tightened. She glared around the room—at Kana, at Alex— then twisted to find Ken behind her chair, arms crossed, not meeting her eyes. No help there. Alex watched her calculate, watched her realize the math didn’t work in her favor.

“Fine,” she muttered. “What do you want to know?”

“Let’s start with Covey,” said Robin. “When did you first become aware he was involved with Durden?”

A car horn honked somewhere out on the street. The garage’s thin walls didn’t keep much out. Snowy exhaled through her nose, the fight draining from her posture one degree at a time.

“July. One of his parties.” She tilted her head, eyes drifting up like she was scrolling through a memory. “He approached me and a friend. At first, it was the usual hosting thing—drinks, conversation. But then he got pushy. Started offering us ‘goods.’ When we kept saying no, he wouldn’t drop it.”

“What did he say?” Kana asked, her voice carefully leveled. Alex noticed her fingers had gone white around the phone.

Snowy hesitated. Something shifted behind her eyes—not a performance this time, but the real thing trying to surface. “He said he could help launch my solo career if I took his offer. But the way he said it wasn’t friendly. It was transactional.”

“And when you kept saying no?” Robin pressed.

Snowy’s gaze dropped to the oil-stained concrete. “He said something that stuck with me.” She swallowed. “‘Guess all you Sugars girls are the same.’”

The buzzing fluorescent above them was suddenly the loudest thing in the room. Alex felt the shift before he saw it. The air in the garage changed, the way it does right before a fight broke out. He looked at Kana.

She hadn’t moved. Hadn’t blinked. Her lips parted slightly, like she was mouthing the words back to herself, testing the shape of them. Alex knew that stillness. It was the same thing he did right before he lost his shit—the quiet before the detonation.

“What did he mean by that?” Kana’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Snowy shook her head. “I don’t know. But the way he said it, like he’d had this conversation before with someone else, it made my skin crawl.”

Kana’s breathing changed. Short. Shallow. Alex kept his eyes on her trembling fists, knuckles white. He stood from the workbench.

“He said that to you. About us. About Sugars.” Her voice cracked, and it wasn’t the performative kind. This one came from somewhere deep. “He knew Sunny. Didn’t he?”

Snowy’s eyes went wide. “I don’t—I can’t say for sure—”

“He knew her.” Kana’s voice broke open. Black-streaked tears cut down her cheeks. “That’s what he meant. She went to him for help and he—”

Alex closed the distance in two steps and put a hand on her arm. Her skin was cold.

“Hey,” he murmured, low enough that only she could hear. “Breathe.”

She flinched but didn’t pull away. He could feel the tremor running through her whole body. After a few ragged breaths, she dragged the heel of her palm across her face and straightened up. Mascara smeared across her wrist like war paint.

“Sorry,” she said. She wasn’t.

Alex stepped back but stayed close. The garage had gone so quiet, he could hear the Civic’s engine ticking as it cooled from the drive over.

Robin let the silence sit for a beat before continuing. “Snowy, was there anyone else with Covey that night? Someone who seemed to be working with him?”

Snowy nodded slowly. She looked smaller now. The stage presence had collapsed somewhere in the last few minutes, leaving behind a tired woman in a sequined dress. “There was a girl. She came up to him right when we were trying to leave. She had a cloth face mask on and crazy-colored hair.”

Jun stepped forward from where he’d been leaning against the Vanquish. “Ashley.”

Everyone looked over. Alex studied his face—the dark circles, the set jaw. Something about the way Jun said the name wasn’t a guess. It was recognition.

“That’s the girl from the farm,” Jun said. His voice was steady, but Alex could see his fingers curled tight at his sides. “Covey had me pick up his supply from the farm. She was there. She runs the front of the operation. But she’s not the one making it.”

Hal straightened from his lean against the Civic’s hood. “What do you mean?”

“There’s someone else.” Jun’s eyes moved across the room—not looking for permission, Alex realized, but making sure everyone was listening. That was new. “She and Covey called him ‘the Owl.’”