Page 7

Claire

Now

The five of us have been talking for nearly twenty minutes on Kyan’s patio by the time the conversation turns to Phoebe.

We’ve covered pretty much everything you’d expect during a ten-year reunion.

Life updates, nostalgic memories, the whole bit.

Through it all, my mind keeps flicking back to that first night we spent together at the Notting Hill Hotel.

It was the first time I felt like I was a part of a big family.

And that truth or dare game was innocent at first. Until it evolved into something else.

Something we would play on almost all our nights out or when we were bored. Until it got out of hand…

“Strange that Hari still hasn’t shown up,” Adrien muses. “Wasn’t she supposed to be here an hour ago?”

“She’s not always the most reliable.” Kyan’s eyes flash with an emotion I can’t recognize as he checks his phone again. Apparently seeing no new messages from Hari, he looks up and abruptly changes the subject. “We should probably talk about tomorrow.”

We all know what’s coming, and despite the warm evening air, a chill settles on the patio.

“The police want us to come to the station at ten a.m. They said they would question us separately, that it would take about a half hour for each of us. We can go into the station one at a time if you would all like, so that we don’t have to sit and wait for everyone to finish.”

“No,” Ellery says, delicately slipping her hand into mine so that our fingers lace together, and I squeeze back. “We should do this together.”

“Agreed,” Declan joins. His eyes meet mine before quickly darting away.

“It’s settled then,” says Kyan.

There’s no further discussion. It’s as if our minds have finally returned to the reason we’re here. Not for a fun reunion, as Ellery had originally planned, but to confront Phoebe’s death.

I open my mouth, trying to find the words to fill this new cavernous awkwardness, but Ellery gets there first.

“Does anyone actually remember anything about the night Phoebe went missing? Did anyone see her after she left dinner?”

I feel the sweat grow heavy on my palms as I try to keep my face void of emotion. The silence returns, but thankfully not for long. Adrien is the first to answer.

“No. To be fair, I assumed she’d run away. I mean, she’d pretty much burned all her bridges by that point.”

The rest of the group nods along with Adrien’s sentiment—as do I; I mean, what other choice do I have?

—but as I sneak a glance around the patio, I can’t help but notice that no one is making eye contact.

Only Adrien seems confident in her statement, staring at each of us as if waiting for someone to challenge her.

In the instant her eyes meet mine, I flick my gaze downward, praying she doesn’t see the heat rise in my cheeks.

“Same,” Declan mumbles after a pause that is several seconds too long. I open my mouth to voice some inane words of agreement, but as I do, an enormous yawn sneaks out.

“Whoa there, tiger,” Kyan says with a wink, and I can tell he’s relieved for an opportunity to break the tension. “Looks like it’s past someone’s bedtime.”

I feel my face flush as I sneak a glance at the sun, which has only just started its slow descent towards the ocean.

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t sleep much on the flight and—”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Ellery jumps in. “This jet lag is awful. Come on,” she says, pulling me up from the couch. “I’ll follow you up.”

Declan rises too, and for a moment his arms begin to lift, and I think he’s going to wrap me in a hug. But he seems to catch himself, lowering them so quickly that I wonder whether I simply imagined it. “Get some sleep, Claire,” he says eventually.

I give him a stiff smile, not daring to talk should he sense the emotion stuck in my throat.

***

It’s dark when I wake. Gradually my eyes adjust, taking in the bedroom.

It adopts the same minimalistic approach as the living room—white everything, from the walls to the armchair in the corner to the lush duvet draped over the king-size bed—but with sparkling accents of color.

An emerald rug lies against the hardwood, matching the large fern tucked against the wall and a large painting above the bed of the ocean, its crashing waves depicted in paint swirls of deep blues and greens.

I check my phone, which tells me it’s just past five in the morning. Despite being unconscious for nearly twelve hours, my body feels as though I ran a marathon yesterday. Even so, I know further sleep is impossible.

Five hours until the police station. Five hours until the truth may come out. Until the police might figure out what I’ve done. Until my friends—once my family—might never be able to look at me again.

I lie there, in the luxuriously comfortable bed, picking apart our group conversation on the patio yesterday.

I think of how cagey everyone seemed to get when the topic turned to Phoebe’s disappearance, how quickly they all were to agree Phoebe had simply run away.

Am I just projecting, or do they know more than they’ve been letting on this whole time?

Do they know I snuck out of my room that night, followed her? Do they know what happened after? About the knife?

Anxiety shoots through me, a sudden restlessness gnawing at my limbs. I need to get up, to get my mind straight. To calm down before we head to the station.

I’ll make coffee, I decide. And suddenly, there’s nothing in the world I crave more.

I get up, stopping in the en suite bathroom to brush my teeth and splash some water on my face before pulling on a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt I’d thrown in my suitcase.

I open the door to my bedroom, pausing as a small undercurrent of sound hits my ears.

It takes me a moment to understand what it is. Whispering.

I take a cautious step forward. The sound is coming from the end of the hallway, the bedroom Ellery pointed out last night as we headed to bed.

The room at the end of the hall belongs to Declan.

I remember, because I tried not to react when Ellery told me he would be staying in the room next to mine.

Even so, she’d shot me a sympathetic look.

“I’m sorry that things are still so weird between the two of you. I’m here if you want to talk about it.”

I didn’t. I still don’t.

I peer into the dark hall now and make out a person in Declan’s doorway, speaking rapidly in hushed tones. I step back quickly, aware that if they turn just slightly, they’ll see me eavesdropping, backlit from my bedroom light, which I quietly turn off.

I brace myself against the doorframe, attempting to make out any words through the whispers.

“They don’t know.” Declan’s once familiar Irish brogue floats over to me, strong and certain. “I’ve told you. It was ten years ago, and no one even suspected back then.”

“Shh,” the other voice comes again. Still too quiet to make out an accent or gender, nothing to give any indication who it might be. “I just need you to promise that you’ll keep this between us.”

I crane my neck, but I can’t make out Declan’s response. Instead, I hear the soft padding of footsteps heading towards me.

Quickly, I pull the bedroom door shut, my heart hammering against my chest.

They don’t know… No one even suspected.

Questions flood my brain, but I know one thing for certain.

I’m not the only one here with a secret.