Mia could see it in the tug of her mouth, caught between a smirk and a grimace. She could see it in Lacey’s eyes, the way they darted to the side and then flicked up—so fast Mia almost missed it. She could see it in the press of Lacey’s knuckle against her own thigh. The truth or a lie? Mia waited.

Lacey leaned forward, her delicate hand pulling at Mia’s wrist until she was no longer sprawled on the floor but rather sitting up, in danger of tipping into Lacey’s lap. Thumbs dug into Mia’s flesh as Lacey maneuvered her forearms within the tight confines of the plastic zip tie. She didn’t let up until Mia’s left wrist was showing, the razor-thin scar almost terrifically beautiful against Mia’s pale skin.

Ducking her head, Lacey pressed her lips to it like it was a cherished child, lingering at Mia’s pulse point when she drew back.

This should have been the moment where Mia moved, kicked, lashed out, grabbed Lacey’s hair or necklace or hands, which still cradled Mia’s. But her muscles had locked up with the gentle touch of mouth against scar, her lungs refusing to drag in air, her vision blurred with tears.

“Tell me,” Mia whispered into the hushed room. “Who did it?”

Lacey’s fingertip traced along the smooth line, again, and again, and again. But her hungry, greedy eyes were locked with Mia’s.

“You did, darling.” The words dripped, poison coated, from slick cherry lips.

Everything unlocked. Oxygen was followed swiftly by adrenaline, and her body throbbed beneath the onslaught of chemicals. “No.”

It came out as a raspy exhale instead of the denial she’d intended.

Lacey scrunched her nose, as if unbearably fond of an endearing pet. “You, you were the best of all of them.”

“No.” It was firmer this time.

Lacey smiled, and it was that same dreamy one she’d worn earlier. “Memories are funny, aren’t they? They only show us what we think happened, not what really did.”

Without warning, the tip of Lacey’s nail burrowed into the end of the scar, and the pain that licked up Mia’s arm brought with it glimpses of that summer, the rose-gold nostalgia stripped away.

At the beach—the bonfire that first night. Mia had turned to find Lacey watching her instead of Monroe and Asher.

Mia stood up, the edges of Cash’s fingers trailing over the frayed hem of her jean shorts, and walked toward the beach. Lacey was sitting on the slick black rocks, the ocean teasing at her feet.

“Don’t feel bad. No one can take their eyes off her,” Lacey said as Mia sat, pulling her legs up to her chest.

“What?”

Lacey threw her a pitying look that, coming from the younger girl, jangled at Mia’s nerves. “Your boys there.”