“Alina.” Mason shakes his head, voice husky. “What are you doing here?”

“I needed to talk to you. I couldn’t wait until school.”

I slide past him, eager to escape the chill, my shoulder brushing against his chest. Once I’m safely inside, he shuts the door behind me. The entryway of the Byrne house is cramped. I find myself trapped between Mason and the front door, though he makes no move to let me inside, and I try to ignore what the close proximity does to my heart.

His mouth flounders, and it seems as though he’s not fully awake yet. “How did you even find my house?”

I stave off a wave of embarrassment. “Sofia.”

He simply stares at me, bewildered.

“So, can I come inside?” I push.

Mason takes a step back, gesturing for me to follow him. “We can talk in the backyard.”

I nod wordlessly, trailing behind him as we creep through the silent corridor, tiptoeing across the creaky kitchen floor until we reach the door to the patio. He slides it open slowly, allowing me to exit, and I do so, greeted by the crisp morning air once more. After he points to the deck stretching out in front of us, I take a seat on a step, set down my backpack, and tuck my hands between my knees to keep them warm. He sits beside me a second later, running a hand through his bedhead.

“Well, Castillo, you certainly have my attention,” he says. “What was so important that you needed to ambush me so early in the morning?”

There are traces of amusement in his voice now, but I’m unsettled. I let out a shaky breath. When he sees the look on my face, the mirth disappears from his expression.

“She had my phone,” I say, voice unsteady.

“What?”

“I found it at her house yesterday.” My pulse is increasingly obnoxious in my throat, getting faster the more I think about what happened last night.

Mason ducks his head toward me, looking concerned. “Alina, what are you talking about?”

“Zoe,” I remark, rising in volume before I rein it back in. “She had my cell phone. Sofia told me nobody could find it after the accident, but she had it in her fucking drawer.”

I pull out the most incriminating piece of evidence we’ve stumbled across so far, presenting it to him with trembling fingers.

He leans back, face paling. “Shit.”

“I didn’t know what to do,” I continue. “I freaked and left as soon as I could. I took it with me, but I’m scared she’s going to notice it’s gone.”

“It’s good that you grabbed it,” he says absently. “Maybe we can put it back before she realizes.”

The image of Zoe’s bloodstained hands pops into my brain, a cold sweat forming on my forehead. “What am I supposed to do?”