Becca caught up to her in a hurry. Her voice was a whispered rush of words, hidden beneath the bustle in the hallway. “Quinn, I couldn’t tell you. Did he tell you everything? About how they’re marked for death? About how the Guides will come for them—”

“He told me all that.”

“Did he tell you about my father? How both Hunter and I aren’t supposed to exist, either?”

“Yes.”

“Did he—”

Quinn shoved her away. “He told me all of it, Becca!” She glared at her, feeling fury pour out of her eyes. “Why didn’t you?”

“I . . . couldn’t.”

I couldn’t.

Quinn could hear the subtext.

Because I couldn’t trust you.

And suddenly, that pinpointed the real problem here.

Becca hadn’t trusted her with this secret. Maybe she thought Quinn was too volatile, maybe she didn’t think Quinn was worthy of knowing. Maybe Becca was genuinely worried and she didn’t want to put Quinn in danger—but that felt like a load of bullshit since her friend hadn’t stopped her from dating Nick.

Quinn felt like such an idiot.

“He told me all about it,” Quinn said, hating that her throat felt thick. “All of it, Bex.”

Then she stood there waiting for Becca to re-categorize the last few weeks, the same way Quinn had done when she’d first learned everything from Nick.

The time Becca had totaled her car on the bridge, but Becca’s father, the Guide, had really been behind it.

The fires in town, the destruction of the school library, the students who were killed at the carnival.

How the kidnapping of a dozen local teenagers had nothing to do with a local criminal, and everything to do with a Guide coming to town to destroy the Merricks. How Calla Dean wasn’t a victim, but a murdering pyromaniac.

Becca knew all of it.

She’d never breathed a word to Quinn.

“You told me you miss your father,” said Quinn. “You cried and told me how much you wished you could trust him. Why would you lie about that?”

Becca looked stricken. “I didn’t lie about that. And now—now he won’t even let me see him—”

“Oh, wait, you can tell the truth when you want something?” Quinn scoffed and walked away. “Need a shoulder to cry on? Forget it, Becca.”

“Quinn, stop!”

“Why?” Quinn stopped and looked at her. “Why, Bex? You don’t give a crap about me. Not really.”

“I do—please, stop, talk to me.”

Becca’s voice was heavy with tears, and Quinn almost broke. She did know what her friend had gone through, and it hadn’t all been sunshine and roses.

Quinn knew because she’d let Becca cry on her shoulder about some of it.

But clearly not all of it.

And Quinn’s life wasn’t exactly sunshine and roses, either. Not like Becca gave a crap.