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“And then?”
“And then she fell.”
I didn’t elaborate. I couldn’t.
“She slipped,” I added after a beat, my voice a whisper now. “She was laughing two seconds before. And then?—”
My chest tightened, panic threading up my throat. I pressed my fist to my mouth.
He studied me. “Your statement matches what they saw on camera. Footage from a rooftop bar across the way caught part of it. No signs of foul play.”
“But?”
“But your name’s on a report connected to a high-risk group.”
My blood iced. “What?”
Norton didn’t blink. “Handle name was ShadyLady. You’re not listed as the poster, but the posts reference a meet. Same location. Same time.”
I shook my head. “That wasn’t me. I don’t even know what that is.”
“Someone does.” His voice didn’t accuse, but it didn’t coddle either. “And they made damn sure you were in the blast zone when things went sideways.”
I pressed my back against the cold wall, nails digging into my skin. “Jessa wasn’t—she didn’t have enemies. We weren’t playing a game. We were just—” I broke off. The words sounded pathetic now. Reckless. “It was just something we used to do. Back before everything started falling apart.”
He nodded like he expected that. Then added, almost offhand, “You know you weren’t supposed to be off the radar after the bridge stunt.”
I swallowed hard. “My whereabouts were supposed to be reported.”
“Exactly. Part of the terms of your suspension from the ballet. Mandatory check-ins.”
I went quiet.
He studied me. “That stopped happening the minute the Danes got involved. Quiet strings pulled. Certain departments told to back off. Ruffled more than a few feathers.”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t.
Because I knew what he was really saying.
Someone had protected me. Covered me. Kept me from being flagged as a risk. And someone else had tried to make sure I looked like one anyway.
I swallowed. My throat felt like it had been sandpapered. “I’m not part of anything. I didn’t post anything. I didn’t kill her.”
“I believe you,” he said.
I blinked. “You do?”
“Yeah,” he said simply. “You’re grieving. Not faking. People faking don’t flinch when the words come out wrong. They try to control it. You’re not controlling anything right now.”
A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it. It hit my knee and sat there, trembling.
He didn’t say anything else for a moment. Just leaned back, arms folded, watching me like someone trying to decide whether I was a live wire or a victim.
“But belief doesn’t change protocol,” he finally said. “Right now, you’re being held until your story checks out completely. Cameras will help. Witnesses might help.”
I wiped at my face with the back of my hand. “What happens to me?”
“That depends.”