“Exactly,” he said. “They’re dangerous. And she knew that.”

Silence stretched tight between us.

“I’ll talk to her.”

“Remy—”

“I have to go,” I said, ending the call. I still didn’t want to face the truth. I wasn’t ready, and I didn’t want to be ready because of what it might mean for us, for our friendship.

Home was a person, and that person was still Elise, the first person who ever truly loved me for me. She sheltered me from the storm, she was my first home.

She was waiting for me, opening the door before I even knocked.

“Did you talk to Jack?” she asked, eyes lingering on my shirt—Jack’s Superman tee.

“I did.” We were standing in the foyer, at an impasse.

“What’d he say?”

“He hasn’t changed his mind,” I said, not meeting her eyes. “But he will. I’ll explain and—”

“You told him it was an accident?”

“I did.” We walked out onto the balcony, the air thick with humidity and still warm from the day. Elise lit a cigarette and offered me one.

“Why did you even tell him?” she snapped at me. “If you’d only—” She saw the hurt on my face and exhaled in frustration.

“What are you going to do?” I asked. What could she do? But then again, it was Elise. She always had a plan.

“You’ve put me in an impossible position,” she said, looking out at the water below. It’d been raining a lot recently, leaving the river swollen, its violent current a symphony filling the air. For a while that’s all there was. Then, when she was done with her cigarette, she tossed it at the water and turned to me. “You know I’d do anything for you, right?”

I nodded slowly, unsure of where this was coming from.

“And anything for us.”

“I know,” I said, still confused.

“Good.” She lit another cigarette, passed me the case I’d given her for her birthday. Remy x Elise. “What are you thinking right now?”

“Nothing really,” I said, lighting myself a cigarette and passing the case back. “Just tired.” I was scared of saying the wrong thing, setting her off.

“You don’t believe him, do you?” she asked, eyebrow raised.

“Believe what?”

“That I did it on purpose.”

“I—” Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, the sheer exhaustion, but I ended up saying the wrong thing: “I don’t know.”

Her eyes flashed with anger. “You don’t know?”

“That’s not what I meant,” I said, trying to backtrack.

“It was just an accident,” she said. “You know me. You know I’d never do that.” All I could think about was the moment I left the Pink Caddy to search for her, the moment the roof caught on fire. All I could think about was the windows shattering, her running toward me.

All I could think about was the gun she’d brought with her. The fact she knew it’d been missing from her bag when she returned.

Did I really know her?