“I’m saying it to drive home exactly how much I hate you for doing that to him. You say I loved you less, Pamela? Maybe so. But I did love you. I might still. Yet it’ll never erase what you did and how much it hurt me.” I got to my feet. “One last question. How did you find out about Greg Kirkman?”

She stared at the table, eyes unfocused, as if she heard my words but couldn’t relate them to anything we’d been discussing.

“Greg Kirkman,” I said. “How did you know he’d be a Cŵn Annwn target?”

“Because he killed a girl with fae blood. I heard talk in Cainsville.” She settled in, finding her balance now. “The elders are careful, but once you know what they are, you understand more of what you overhear, as I’m sure you’ve realized. I knew there was a serial killer, and one of his victims was partly fae, which meant the Hunt would want him.”

“But Kirkman wasn’t charged with any crimes. The police had barely begun investigating him. How did you know he was the killer?”

“I heard the elders speculating. I did some digging and then confronted him and tricked him into a confession. I killed him, and the Cŵn Annwn came.”

—

I sat in Gabriel’s car, still parked in the prison visitors’ lot. He’d been waiting in the hall. I hadn’t said a word as we walked out, nor once we got into the car, and while I could feel his impatience strumming, there was too much going on in my head.

It felt like I was under a cliff, an avalanche rumbling above, and I was frantically trying to figure out what to do next, where to run, one eye on those trembling rocks and Gabriel standing in the distance, motioning that he needed to speak to me.

Wait. Just wait. Let me figure this out first.

Once I got my thoughts as ordered as I could, I turned to him and said, “Sorry. I’m just…”

“Busy.”

I nodded.

“Did Pamela confirm your theory?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“And…”

I said nothing, just stared out the window.

After a moment, he said, “Olivia?”

“I need to get another answer.”

“One you don’t want.”

“Yes.”

Silence. A squeak of the leather. A sigh, the softest exhale of frustration, not meant for me to hear.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Don’t be.” A slight snap to the words. “Whatever it is, the prospect upsets you, and you don’t want to discuss it until you know if there is cause for you to be upset. Do you wish to speak to Ricky? He’s still at the clubhouse. I have business I could discuss with Don.”