I can’t even play my violin like this.

Her carefully crafted frown flickers. Her nostrils flare. “Well, I can’t make it better, but I can offer you something that might help.”

I don’t say anything. I cradle my arm.

“We decided—” She hesitates then amends, “Some of us decided that we can’t let Josie get away with what she did. We’ve set rules to follow while we all stay here. She broke those rules, and she should be punished.”

I tilt my head. A part of me aches to point out that Josie wasn’t staying here, so she can’t be bound by the same rules. But I don’t. I don’t want to. “What do you have in mind?”

She shrugs, but she keeps looking at me through her lashes. “We’d have to talk about that, of course, but I wanted to make sure you’re on board with it. With consequences. Grace wants to vote when we’re all present, but that doesn’t seem right to me. Seeing as how it was you who Josie hurt. You should have the first say in what happens next.”

I can’t deny the glint in Mackenzi’s eyes. The edge to her voice. The way her words seem cautiously chosen to lure me in and trap me. This is what temptation looks like, and Saint Jude, forgive me, I want to be lured in.

Maybe it will make me feel better to have something to focus on. Something to distract me from the pain inside and out. If I’m hurting, I don’t want to hurt alone. If we’re hopeless cases, we might as well act like them.

Before I can respond to Mackenzi, footsteps echo in the hallway. Grace walks toward us, her hands in her pockets and her face set to thunder. Her hazel eyes flash. “Fuck off, Mackenzi.”

I cringe. I wish I could turn my pain into anger as easily as she does. It may not be healthy either, but it can’t be worse than this emptiness and this loneliness.

Grace turns from Mackenzi to me, and something flickers behind her eyes. “I’m sorry Mackenzi jumped on you, Emerson. We made plans, and she had no right.”

“Plans, huh?” I take a step back with my back against the door.

“Yeah.”

“What kind of plans?” Does she not trust me in the same way I don’t trust her?

Grace grumbles, “Look, we can talk about that later. How do you feel? How’s the arm? Do you need something?”

Cold determination settles inside of me. I need lots of things, but above all, right now, I need an answer to my questions. “Why later? She’s not wrong, is she?” I ask. To my own surprise, my voice sounds soft and reasonable, the exact opposite of how I feel.

Grace blinks. “What do you mean?”

“Josie may have put us all in danger, but she did hurt me. Me and Logan. We should have a say in what happens to her.”

“And you will,” Grace insists. She looks tired. “You’ll get a vote, like everyone. I’m trying to do this right. I don’t want to make the mistakes that the people who put us here made.”