Jack backed away from the door, wondering if she should sneak out the back of the house or go through her bedroom window. If she went out the window, she’d have to scale her neighbor’s fence. It would be difficult. Painful. But the police might be waiting for her in the backyard. Jack veered right, pushing into her bedroom, her heart beating as loudly as her steps. Each beat sent a jolt of panic through her. She couldn’t breathe. Her hands shook as she reached for the window. It took a couple of tries to wrench it open, and then she was slipping outside at the exact perfect moment. The last of the light had bled from the sky, leaving the world not black but absent of color. No one could find her in the moment the sun dipped below the horizon, because no one could see anything in that moment, and soon she’d be climbing over the neighbor’s fence. She’d be racing to freedom. She’d be—

A hand gripped the back of her jacket, jerking her to the ground. She fell fast. She fell hard. Her cheek slammed into a rock, and pain ricocheted through her, bringing tears to her eyes. She should’ve kissed Raven when she had the chance. She should’ve believed in his affection for her, for once, instead of doubting that anyone could really love her if they knew who she was.

Now she might never have the chance to tell him. Feel his arms wrap around her. She focused on this image as the officer jerked her to her feet. Handcuffs slid around her wrists easily, as if they’d been made for her, and she heard her mother’s voice again.

Hadn’t this been inevitable? The man was treating her like garbage, and it felt like a prophecy fulfilled. As if this were her destiny, and she was far from being the hero of her own story. The knight. The man dragged her toward the front of the house, where Raven was arguing with two uniformed men. Jack wanted to bolt over there, because the officers in this town weren’t known for serving and protecting boys who looked like him, but as soon as she arrived on the scene, all eyes were on her.

When a man strode over to her, she took a resigned breath. “Detective,” she managed through a swollen lip.

“Jack.” Detective Medina frowned down at her, his head shaking in disappointment. “I got an anonymous tip on my way out of the station. The caller claimed you’d burned clothing in a fire the night after Evelyn’s murder. They said the clothes are the key to finding the killer, and they sent me a vid—”

“You can’t arrest me for burning clothes in a fire. That isn’t illegal.”