“You’re right.” The detective nodded. “But my boys are going over that fire with a fine-tooth comb, and they’ve already found a scrap of paper with Evelyn’s letterhead on it. Care to explain?”

“I didn’t—it isn’t—”

“Please tell me you didn’t break into Evelyn’s office. We swept the place this morning, and there was a fresh set of fingerprints on the filing cabinet. Once I book you down at the station, we’ll be able to figure out if those prints are a match.”

Jack’s eyelids fluttered closed, the muscles in her arms starting to cramp up. She wanted to stretch so badly. To scream. To run. “I want to talk to an attorney,” she said, as Medina led her toward a car with blinking lights. “I can explain everything, but you aren’t listening to me.”

“Every time I listen to you, I catch you telling lies.” He opened the door to the police car, guiding her inside. “Three years ago, you came to me with a story about Raven’s wicked stepmother. Now she’s dead. If I find out you had anything to do with what happened to her, I won’t be arresting you for destroying evidence. I’ll be arresting you for murder.”

15 Kill Each Other Over Boys

When Jack arrived at the detention center, Belle was curled up in her cell, reading a book. There was no library within these gray, peeling walls, but donations arrived sporadically, and Belle had laid claim to an old book of fairy tales, not unlike the ones she had at home.

It gave her a small measure of peace.

But when she saw the familiar face peering through the bars, that peace crumbled like a castle long battered by the winds. The cell clanked open, and Jack was nudged inside, dressed in a nondescript gray sweatshirt and matching pants. The standard uniform in this glorified prison for minors. The guard provided a clipped introduction, which Belle did not find necessary, considering her history with Jack. But she thought it might be wise to play it cool and pretend the two were strangers.

Until they were alone.

That quality alone time came swiftly, as the cell was closed and locked once more. Belle watched Jack through the limp strands of her hair. She could live without the curling iron and the hair dryer, the kohl liner, and the dresses of satin and lace. But every time that cell closed, a panic was incited in her chest. She wasn’t like a caged animal in those seconds. She was a living, breathing creature in a literal cage, and she thought she’d do anything to get out of it.

At the present moment, she had something to focus on, and it loosened the tightness in her stomach. As Jack shuffled into the small gray cell, Belle set her book of fairy tales aside, rising to her feet.