More loud knocking came at the door. ‘Eliza? Open up, please,’ came Con’s voice.

Eliza and Murphy turned to the door as one. They stepped closer to each other.

‘I didn’t tell them, I swear,’ whispered Murphy. ‘You can run. I’ll stall them.’

Eliza laughed, but there was no humour in it. ‘Run? Are you serious?’

‘Eliza,’ called Con. ‘We need to talk.’

She walked forward and opened the door.

Con stepped in, his shirtsleeves rolled up. He looked stressed. He was followed by a woman who flashed her badge and ID card at Eliza, identifying her as Detective Melinda Tran.

Con frowned at Murphy. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Visiting a friend,’ Murphy said. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Eliza, we need you to come down to the station.’

‘What’s this about?’ she asked.

‘Madison’s latest video: I’m not sure if it’s been uploaded to her channels yet, but she sent it to the police station fifteen minutes ago.’ His hands were clenched into fists. ‘And also, I think, to every major media outlet. Take a guess, Eliza: what do you think the video is about?’

Shouting sounded outside and then Tom burst into the house, breaking one of the glass panels of the door as he slammed it open. His immense muscular bulk loomed in the entryway, his large jaw muddied as though he’d fallen. His eyes were wide, the guilt and remorse painfully obvious.

‘Eliza?’ Tom looked between the detectives, lingered on Murphy for a moment, and then to her. ‘I just heard. Madison has shared it all over Facebook.’

Eliza felt a surge of relief. Tom was here to confess. He’d take the decision out of her hands.

He took her up in a big hug and turned to the police. ‘She’s not saying another word until she has her lawyer. Her relationship with Cierra has nothing to do with this.’

Detective Tran turned her dark eyes back on Eliza. ‘Miss Ellis, if you please?’

Eliza’s relief had deflated in Tom’s squeezing arms, but she kept her spine straight.

‘Remember Wren, please,’ whispered Tom in her ear.

‘Don’t say a word,’ said Murphy into the other.

Eliza walked, tall and proud, down to the waiting patrol car. Ignoring the journalists, she climbed into the back seat, pulling her phone from her pocket. She saw the missed calls and texts from concerned friends and family – Monica and Tom included. She ignored all of them, opening YouTube.

As the car pulled away from her house, the media snapping photos in through the window, Eliza watched Madison’s latest video.

Madison sat in her usual spot, in front of her bed. She was wearing the same green jacket as at the hospital: she looked stunning, the perfect mourning internet icon.

‘I have something to confess to you all . . . something I was not fully honest about before . . . I know who my sister, Cierra, was having sex with.’