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She knew.

She orchestrated the whole thing.

Not outside the realm of possibilities.

“Caleb,” Keith says, his hand on my shoulder.

I rise automatically and flinch when he hugs me. When’s the last time I was hugged by a man? Certainly not Uncle David.

My eyes burn.

“It’s okay, son,” he whispers. I’m barely taller than him. “And I’m so, so sorry.”

He pulls away, cups my jaw like a father might, and then…

Well, he just walks away. Toward the guard, through the door.

I shake off the chills.

Margo takes my hand. “Well, now we both have allegedly murderous parents.”

“That only counts if they commit two separate murders, I think.”

My girl leads me out, to our locker to retrieve our things and then into the cold. I take a deep breath in, the sharpness of the air waking me up a bit. I needed this like a slap in the face.

Wake up.

“I never asked… how did he die?” Margo asks.

I blink. “What?”

She stamps her foot into the snow-dusted road, pausing by the back bumper of Theo’s car. “I didn’t even know he was dead. What was I supposed to ask Dad—‘How did you kill him?’ No thanks.”

“I…” I shake off the memories. Battle them away. In as monotone a voice as possible, I say, “He was stabbed.”

She reaches for me.

“I can’t, Margo,” I say quietly. I step away from her.

She sets her jaw and comes for me anyway.

I never thought I’d be the one running, but here I am. Backing away from her like she’s fire and I’m ice.

My shoulder hits the car’s side mirror, and she pushes me against the door.

“No running,” she says, eyes narrowed.

I start to shake my head, but she presses her finger to my lips.

“You can’t run from me—and you definitely can’t run from whatever you're trying not to remember.”

A snowflake lands on her head, and more follow. I follow them with my eyes, contemplating. Her finger is still on my lips.

I talk through it. “If my mom did it—”

“Yeah.” She drops her hand. “Then this is bigger than either of us.”

“We should get back,” I say in a low voice.