Carter lets out a soft, noncommittal hum, eyes still on the TV, like he’s not really listening, like he’s not sitting there thinking a little too hard about what I’m saying. I narrow my eyes slightly.

“And then—” I continue, drawing out the words, watching for any more slivers of reaction, anything that confirms the sudden gut feeling pressing against my ribs. “—I get here, and your brother just so happens to wear the same exact mask as the guy who’s been tormenting me online for months?”

That does something, just a slight stiffening of his shoulders, a brief waver of his gaze in my direction, the smallest shift in his posture like he’s bracing for impact.

My stomach tightens, knotting with something sharp. I tilt my head, studying him now, pressing forward, following the trail of breadcrumbs I don’t think he meant to leave.

“You sure you don’t want to clue me in on that?” I ask. “Because it’s weird, Carter. You have to admit it’s weird.”

He finally turns his head toward me, like he’s already figuring out what he has to say to throw me off, to keep me from walking straight into the answer that, for some reason, he doesn’t want me to have.

“You really think my brother spends his time gaming?” he says, voice easy, but there’s something else in it.

For the first time since I met Carter, I don’t quite trust him. Not entirely. Not when I can feel a lie sitting somewhere between us. Not when I know, deep in my gut, that he’s not telling me something. And that something has everything to do with Tate.

I can feel it, the way the weight of whatever he’s been keeping from me is finally pressing too hard on his ribs, the way he doesn’t know how to package the words in a way that won’t detonate the second they leave his mouth.

I don’t let the silence stretch too long. I want him uncomfortable, because I sure as hell am. I sit up straighter, hands curled into my lap, eyes locked on his face. “You’ve known this entire time, haven’t you?”

Carter’s throat bobs, his fingers curling over his knees, his whole body tense like he’s already bracing for impact. I shake my head, pressing harder. “You knew Tate was the one who’s been fucking with me online.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, his whole posture sinking like I just confirmed something for him that he didn’t want to hear out loud.

And then, finally… he nods. Like he knows this answer changes everything.

I laugh, sharp, humorless, hollow. “So that’s it? That’s the whole explanation?”