“Excuse me?” Aunt Olivia whipped around to face Lillian. If they hadn’t been wearing lake attire, I would have termed it the Battle of the Twin Sets.

“Leave Sawyer be,” Lillian ordered my aunt. “I’ve been expecting this. Lily needs—”

“Tell me what my daughter needs, Mama.” Aunt Olivia wasn’t smiling. Aunt Olivia always smiled, but she wasn’t now.

“Lily needs what she needs,” Lillian said evenly. “And I think we both know that she’s old enough to decide what that is for herself. Think of yourself at her age. You knew exactly who you wanted to be, Olivia.”

I heard the emphasis on Aunt Olivia’s name but didn’t know quite what to read into it, other than the fact that Lillian meant business. And when Lillian Taft meant business, the rest of this family listened.

Myself excluded. That was what I found myself thinking half an hour later, after Aunt Olivia had reluctantly—and temporarily, I was sure—stopped badgering me about Lily. Weeks earlier, my grandmother had as good as told me to stay away from Two Arrows. She had strongly implied that it could be dangerous for me to go there, to get mixed up with Ellen and whatever her business was.

Now that Aunt Olivia was occupied with Lily’s disappearing act, she wasn’t so focused on keeping me within eyesight, and that meant I finally had a chance to do the thing I’d been thinking about for the past two days.

Ever since Uncle J.D. had mentioned the small town where Ana had gone while she was pregnant—right before she gave the baby away and started traveling the world.

Moving quickly and silently, I went back upstairs to get my cell phone. The texts from the White Gloves were still pulled up. I dismissed them. For a moment, I thought about calling Nick. I remembered the way he’d jumped over the bar when that drunken frat boy had gotten physical. I hadn’t needed his help, but he’d been there, beside me, in a flash.

Once someone starts a bar fight in my establishment and offers pointers on my tossing-out-dirtbags technique, I could hear him saying, we’re pretty much on a first-name basis by default.

If he knew where I was going and what I was doing, if he knew about the gun I’d found pressed to my back the last time I’d gone to Two Arrows… would he come?

Would he even pick up the phone?

I could have called. I could have found out. But when Nick had accused me of being a runner, he’d gotten at least one thing right. I was better at leaving than being left.

Don’t come back.