“Nothing.” She looks up and angles her phone away from me as she types. Then she shoves it into her pocket and picks up the strand of lights she’s supposed to be winding around the trunk. “Norah’s just being a … pain.”

“I’m sorry. Need help with the lights?”

She rolls her eyes at me. “I think I can handle winding a string of lights around a tree trunk.”

“The evidence does not support your conclusion,” I tell her, my hands propped on my hips.

“Ha ha.”

“You sure you’re okay?” I ask as she resumes winding the unlit strand around the tree.

“I’m fine.”

So I take her at her word and I go back to help Jake and Penn.

Half an hour later, I hear a muted buzz. I turn to see Landry reading something on her phone, but then she returns it to her pocket without replying. She finishes the tree trunk and heads toward the garage for an extension cord, but in the driveway, she stops and looks at another message. Then, again, she pockets her phone without replying.

I follow her into the garage, and she doesn’t hear me as she rummages through a plastic storage tub, pushing aside a small spade and a broken hose nozzle, evidently unconcerned that she’s looking in Mom’s gardening supplies instead of Dad’s box full of spare cords and wires.

Her phone buzzes again, and this time I snatch it from her hand before she can slide it back into her pocket.

“Hey!” Landry spins around, angry for a second, until she sees that it’s me. Then she suddenly looks terrified. She grabs for her phone, and I backpedal until I hit a broken bicycle and send it crashing into the box she should have been searching for the outdoor extension cord. “Give me my phone, Beckett.”

Instead, I read the text thread on her screen.

Landry: delete it. NOW!

Norah: no!

Landry: its gone too far. delete the account!

Landry: your going to get us in SO much trouble!

Norah: stop being paranoid

Norah: come over. we got another DM from that reporter.

Norah: if you dont come over i’m gonna answer her

“Oh my god.” My hand clenches around her phone, and it creaks in my grip. “You’re the Crimson Cryer. You and Norah are the fucking Crimson Cryer!” I don’t mean to shout. The last thing I want is for anyone to hear me. But this is … This is …

“How—?” I can’t make the rest of the question come out. I can’t remember how words work. There’s nothing left inside me right now but so much anger that I’m afraid that if I move a single muscle, I’ll kill my sister.

“Inside,” I say though clenched teeth. “Now.”

Chapter Eighteen

EIGHTEEN