It had been six days since Aria lost her father, her home, and her identity. She had never been the daughter of a typically dysfunctional family like she thought she was. All along she had been the offspring of a cold-blooded killer.

The house had finally been cleared by the crime scene unit for them to move back in, so at least things were given the appearance of normalcy again. But it wasn’t home anymore, because home is where the heart is, and there was no heartbeat in this loveless structure.

Aria lay on her own bed in her own bedroom, as her mother washed dishes downstairs and her friends texted her to see how she was “hanging in there.” It only took six days for the surviving Fischers’ world to move on like nothing had happened.

Dinner conversation had been stiff tonight as they picked at their chicken teriyaki. Her mom mentioned selling the house, if anyone would buy a murder house, and chatted about getting a job, creating a career for herself. Aria knew the truth—her mother had tasted freedom for the first time and it was delicious.

Sprawled out on her bedspread, she kept a book propped open with her elbows as the story took her captive. Anything was better than being in the present, two doors down the hallway from where her father’s dead body had been found.

A tap on her window startled her, then another tap. The press had hounded her and her mom for days, yelling questions at them from the curb while video cameras recorded their every move. But by now the media had all trickled away, their bloodhound sense sniffing for a new lead in someone’s devastation.

Stepping over piles of clothes and shoes on the floor, she made her way to the windowpane, raised the blinds, and glanced out. She pushed open the window with a grunt, though the screen stopped her from leaning out.

“Ryan?” she called into the darkness. It was the first time she had seen him since that night. The porch light barely illuminated his face enough to identify him, but the Iron Man sweatshirt gave him away. “Do you want me to come down?”

He stepped directly below her window, close enough that he didn’t need to yell up to her. “No, this’ll be quick. My mom told me you guys dropped the charges.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t think it was right to ruin your life over one night. We were both drinking, so . . . My dad was the one who had filed them actually, not me.”

He averted his gaze, staring at something far away down the street, then back up at her. “Look, I think you should go through with it.”

“What? Are you kidding?”