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Jessa shook her head slowly. “No. She just … left it hanging. We could tell there was something, but she clammed up.”
I exhaled sharply, something breaking loose in my chest. “Huh.”
“What?”
“I just assumed she’d tell everyone. She always plays the martyr card, the ‘I did everything right’ routine. I figured the moment she had a reason to paint me as the family fuck-up, she’d go for it.”
“Well … maybe she’s better than that,” Jessa said gently. “Maybe she’s grown up. Or maybe she just realized that wasn’t hers to say.”
I didn’t have a response. Because part of me—the part that had been braced for betrayal—felt suddenly disarmed. And I hated it.
Hated that Emmaline might actually be handling this better than I gave her credit for. Hated that she’d come all the way to Charleston not to expose me, but to try—however messily—to hold me up.
It was easier when I could make her the villain. Harder when she was just a tired, worried sister trying to keep everything from falling apart.
I rubbed the back of my neck, an old ache flaring beneath my skin.
“I don’t know how to talk about it,” I admitted, so low it barely counted as a confession. “I don’t even know where I’d start.”
“Start with the truth,” Jessa said. “Whatever it is.”
I looked out at the skyline, sun glaring off windows like a dare. “Yeah, well. Some truths don’t come in words. They come in actions. In screaming from rooftops.”
She looked at me for a long beat, and I thought she was ready to call it a night. Then she nodded. “So, let’s scream.”
And that was how we ended up deciding on one last jump.
The one we’d never dared before. The one that would change everything.
I raised a brow. “You serious?”
She nodded again, her mind made up.
“There’s one more jump I’ve always wanted to try”, I said. “Never had the guts. It’s new. Unmarked.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not talking about the Tremont Hotel, are you?”
I didn’t answer.
“Vivi, no.”
I stood, walked to the edge of the building, and pointed. The Tremont rose across the street, all brick and concrete, with a maintenance platform half-extended from the fifth floor. Between us was a chasm—at least a fifteen-foot drop into alley shadows if we missed.
“No one’s ever made it from here,” Jessa said.
“Exactly.”
She exhaled, hard. “Jesus.”
I turned, my grin feral. “You coming or not?”
She stood slowly, brushing off her hands. “You’re gonna kill me one of these days.”
I laughed, and it sounded wild, unhinged, a little too close to desperate. “Not tonight.”
We paced back a few yards, then stopped. The platform loomed ahead—dangerous, unsanctioned, perfect.
“You take the lead,” she said, adjusting her gloves.