Page 153 of The Final Cut

“No one in this room is fine.”

Ever does not look up from the laptop. “Fact.”

Shiloh scrubs both hands over his face and follows me into the kitchen.

The penthouse kitchen is all marble counters and soft under-cabinet lighting, absurdly polished for the hour and the circumstances. Someone has left a silver tray near the sink with coffee service, half-empty cups, and a plate of untouched pastries.

I pour coffee because the ritual gives my hands something to do that’s not violent. The pot is fresh—courtesy of Ever, if I had to guess.

I lift the mug slightly toward Shiloh, but he shakes his head.

I take mine black and lean back against the counter. “Start with the hospital.”

Shiloh rests both hands on the island and lowers his head for a second. When he looks up, the performer is gone. No smile. No teasing glance. Only the man beneath, tired and angry.

I don’t think Isabel knows what she’s done in stripping Shiloh back to this.

“Reva found a woman in Cal’s room,” he says. “Marisol Hart.”

The name sits between us.

I knew it was coming. Deacon’s message after the chapel had been brutally short: Reva discovered Marisol. Alive, with Cal. Explain later.

Even prepared, hearing the name spoken aloud changes the air. Ever’s fingers pause on the keyboard in the other room, then resume.

Shiloh continues. “She didn’t recognize her at first. Saw her with Cal. Holding his hand. Talking to him like…” He stops, jaw flexing. “Like she loves him.”

“She does.”

His eyes cut to me, and I hold his stare.

The question comes silently, sharp and betrayed, because Shiloh has always hated secrets more than he hates danger.

Secrets make a fool of charm. They turn good intentions into traps. They make every man standing in front of the lie look complicit, whether he meant to be or not.

And I have been standing in front of this one for a long time. But it was never my secret to reveal.

That’s what I tell myself, anyway.

As soon as the thought crosses my mind, I know it for the lie it is. When Reva gave me her trust, her love, shouldn’t I have stopped keeping the faith for anyone else? Isn’t that how this is supposed to work?

Deacon too, though I can’t judge him for the same sin I’m standing in.

Jesus, this is complicated.

And Reva will probably uncomplicate it for both of us in spectacular Reva fashion.

I scrub a hand across my forehead, suddenly weary.

“I did not know she would be there tonight,” I say.

“That’s a careful answer.”

“It’s an accurate one.”

“But you knew she was alive?”

“Not until recently.”