Page 78 of On Edge

God, no.

No.

For the rest of the way, I clutch the door card handle and stare out the window, watching the sunset stain the sky a dark purple, like a bruise forming over the land. A wound, healing. It reminds me of what Troy said at the bar about the land being stripped. Tobias Ragg said something similar. But he said it was my father’s company that did it. Does that mean my father is responsible?

And then another thought crashes through me, scattering everything else.

My father owned the estate where Nell died. He owned it, and he never said a word. Not when I asked about the engagement, not when he mentioned that her diary was found at Grayfleet Hall.

Not once.

Things blur in and out of my memory these days, slipping through my fingers like water, but I would have remembered this.

Iwouldhave.

So that’s why Troy was confused about why I didn’t know.

Why did my father keep it secret? Why strip the land, sell it, and then sell me along with it, like I’m just another asset to liquidate?

And if Father owned Grayfleet when Nell died...

I press my forehead against the cold, fogged-up window, trying to steady my thoughts. Nothing about this has made sense from the very beginning.

And now, I don’t even know what I’m doing here.

I glance back to look at Troy, but his head is still resting on the backseat and his eyes are still closed. He looks peaceful, for once. With his brow smoothed over rather than scrunched up. Every time we go over a bump, his head lolls comically. He must be out cold.

Now would be the perfect time to try to open his phone, rather than getting distracted by useless thoughts.

I steal a look to the front, where Mundel is driving, but the partition between us is dark. I remember Troy closing it when we got into the car. Slowly, without making a sound, I scooch closer to Troy. Then closer still, until I’m right next to him, my thigh pressing against his.

Ignore that.

My heart is racing as I slip my hand into my pants, reaching for Troy’s phone.

Every part of my body feels alive with a thrill that races through me; half adrenaline, half something I don’t want to think about, especially when I tug Troy’s mobile and the warm metal tingles against my skin as it pops out.

Squashing down the flutter of heat that surges after it, because that would be so wrong, I switch it on. My heart thuds, too loud in my ears, while I wait for it to start up.

And then, cautiously…

I line up the phone with his face.

But something else has fallen onto his lap.

As I look down, I see what it is: the phone screen lights up. And Troy’s hand shoots out and grabs my wrist hard, making me cry out.

“What are you doing?” But he’s holding me too tight. Eyes glittering in the darkness.

My breathing stalls, and my pulse leaps into my throat as I struggle to pull free and drop the phone. It bounces off the seat and onto the footwell. His gaze flicks to where it lands, blazing with accusation. “Is that my phone?”

I open my mouth, but I can’t speak.

“For crying out loud.” He releases me.

For the second time in one car ride, I scoot over to the other side of the seat while Troy picks up his phone.

“I take it you’re not going to tell me why you have it?”