Jack barreled down the hallway, rounded the staircase, and took the stairs two at a time. He told himself Raven had woken up of his own accord. Planted his feet on the floor and then realized he was far too scantily dressed to come downstairs. Jack had taken off his shirt hours earlier, along with his jeans, leaving Raven in a pair of silky black boxers. Maybe he’d had trouble finding his clothes in the dark. Maybe no one would be standing over him on the bed, a pair of gardening shears aimed at his bare chest.

Maybe, Jack told himself.

Definitely, he promised.

But Jack had always been a storyteller. He’d written himself into fairy tales in order to survive the darkness in his life. As he entered Lily’s bedroom to find her leaning over the bed, Jack realized that darkness could be deceptively bright. Lily’s hair was luminous in the moonlight. Her skin looked eerily white as she brushed the curls from Raven’s face.

“Please.” Jack took a single step toward the bed. “I’ll give you anything you want. I’ll disappear. I’ll take Raven with me. Just don’t—”

“You know I can’t let you go,” Lily replied. Her purse was slung over her shoulder, and Jack had no doubt that the rusty gardening shears were tucked inside. “Not after you stole my father’s file. Not after you tried to pin the murder on him,” she added, as Raven opened his eyes, blinking up at her. He had the brightest eyes of anyone Jack had ever known. The softest hands. The sweetest heart.

“Jack? What’s happening?” he murmured, his voice heavy with sleep. With confusion.

“Everything’s fine,” Jack said softly. “Lily and I are just having a chat, right, Lil? Isn’t that what your dad calls you? But he isn’t the person who poisoned your mom.”

“No, he isn’t.” Lily sat down on the bed. She was looking at Raven with the detached fascination of a house cat who doesn’t need to hunt for food, but still has the wiring of a hunter. That was why cats played with mice after all, and didn’t bother to eat them.

They were natural killers.

“Tell us about the night your mother died,” Jack said, eyeing the distance between them. “After you stole the flowers from Belle’s garden, you came here and found your mom’s teakettle on the stove. Right?”

The moonlight sliced through the window, illuminating Lily’s face. There was no blood in her cheeks. No curve in her lips. When she opened her mouth to speak, Raven reached out, placing a hand on her cheek. “I don’t want to hear how you killed your mother,” he said, his voice startlingly gentle in the quiet room. The quiet night. “That part’s easy. That part, anyone can guess.”