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“I should get back to work,” Daphne said, giving her chair to Dad. “Harper, I’ll come check on you in a little bit.”

Are you okay? she mouthed, while he settled in.

I gave her a nod and a cringey thumbs-up. I had a slightly higher threshold for tolerating our father’s unique brand of bullshit than Daphne did.

“Your sister looks well,” he said. “I truly had no idea she worked here.”

A memory fluttered through my brain—pulling an all-nighter to hem Daphne’s prom dress while Dad was away somewhere, on deadline.

“It’s nice because it’s right near our apartment?” I asked, leading a little. At his quizzical expression, I pointed out the window. “We live two blocks down?”

“Is that recent?”

My smile froze in place. “Nope. We’ve been there a while.”

“How interesting.” He ducked to peer at my eyes in a rare show of paternal interest. “You look run down, honey. Did you just get in from the southwest? I told you that Monty Montana will always be a—”

“I met her,” I said, something deep inside of me finally snapping. “Funny story, actually. I was trying to get away from a tarantula, and she shot at it to scare it away.”

“You met…Monty Montana?”

“Yep.”

“ You did.”

I nodded, his dismissive tone coming through loud and clear. He looked visibly impressed with me for the first time, maybe ever.

And I felt…nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing. My gut twisted into a painful knot, every revelation from the past couple weeks rising rapidly to the surface.

Oh God, Eve was right.

“So then…your boss must be pretty happy,” he said. “That’ll be huge for the Review . Huge for you, too. She’s always been a sort of White Whale for a lot of journalists, myself included.” He laughed, somewhat nervously. “I can’t believe you were the one to do it.”

A strange and clarifying numbness was settling over me. The kind of clarity that splits your life into a before and an after . It was intensely terrifying. It was fiercely beautiful.

“Harper?” Dad said.

“Sorry.” I shook my head. “There is no story. Monty declined to be interviewed, and even the brief moment I spoke with her was off the record.”

He scoffed. “You’ll wear her down. Some people just need to be convinced.”

“She said no, Dad. You remember what happened to her, right? It was horrible. Traumatizing. Ruined her life.”

He hooked an ankle over his knee. “I sympathize, but Monty Montana forfeited her right to privacy when she chose to do something that made her a minor celebrity. A small price to pay for the cost of fame.”

“Are you serious? They turned her life into a punchline.”

“Well, you have to admit, she’s a bit of a character.

Besides, this is outside of your purview, Harper.

It’s not personal. A story like Monty’s could help you make it to the top.

Be a little more vicious.” He tapped the side of my knee with a folksy smile.

“Be a little more predatory . Stop letting your biases get in the way.”

That clarifying numbness became a rare calm, quieting my nervous system. I kept the smile on my face but leaned back and straightened my spine.

“I want to prevent this woman from being harassed again by the press because she’s queer, Dad.

And so am I. You have a bisexual daughter whether you like it or not, and that means the world reacts differently to me, and to a person like Monty, than it does to you.

That’s not an internal bias. That’s our lived experience. ”

He had the decency to go slightly red in the face. “Of course, and I would never suggest differently. But why do you… Do you always have to make it about that? About your…”

“My core humanity?”

His gaze drifted to the street view, a telltale sign he was trying to end this conversation. He’d always been this way.

Much like Eve’s parents, my father’s approval was impersonal and intellectual—which was surely better than no approval at all.

But he lost interest whenever I talked about “my identity.” And in all of his years covering every subject matter under the sun, he had never—not once—written a story about queer or trans people.

Daphne and I had a theory—that Bruce Sullivan enjoyed being the expert on every subject matter at the dinner party. But he couldn’t be an expert on my own queerness, couldn’t speak to the things I’d experienced.

So he feigned indifference rather than admitting his knowledge—and empathy—had actual limits.

“Harper,” he said, redrawing my attention.

“If you want my advice, get out there and try again. If you pull off this story, it’ll be a drop in the bucket in the end.

Especially when you view your career with the long view in mind.

One story, and it’ll help you get ahead.

That’s all. You have to make sacrifices if you want this career.

I’ve made plenty, and I have no regrets. ”

As a matter of fact, he’d only made one sacrifice. His daughters.

I had a scar on my wrist from burning myself, learning how to make macaroni and cheese for me and Daphne when Dad was away.

There was a year stretch when my sister was in fifth grade where she only slept with the lights on because her nightmares were so bad.

I had my first kiss and told Daphne, both of us squealing on the couch.

There was a specific brand of orange juice she drank before every soccer practice for good luck, and I couldn’t see that brand in the grocery store now without smiling.

We once dyed each other’s hair for Halloween and stained the bathroom tile so bad we bought a rug and hoped Dad would never notice (he didn’t).

“No regrets, huh?” I said.

His smile was dazzling. “None whatsoever.” Someone called his name, and he turned around, lifted his hand in a wave. “Oh, that’s my editor. Mind if we table this until the meeting’s over?”

My phone buzzed with an incoming text, distracting me.

“Uh, sure. Yeah, that’s fine,” I said, but he was already halfway across the room. Sighing, I picked up my phone to find a message from a person I had never expected to hear from again.

Eve.

Priscilla’s locket had a secret compartment that we just discovered , she’d sent. Inside were map coordinates, leading to a spot in Forks.

My stomach pitched to the floor.

“Holy fucking shit,” I whispered.

It’s still a long shot, but this is our biggest clue yet.

I know you might not want to hear from me anymore, but if you still believe in Priscilla and Adeline, we’re heading out tomorrow at first light.

Jensen’s crew was spotted nearby, so we’re moving fast. Monty and Ruby want you to be there if you can .

I couldn’t hear a thing in the café due to the blood roaring in my ears.

A few seconds passed, then: And I want you there, too.