“I know you’re behind this. I didn’t want to believe it at first . . .” Steph’s eyes scanned the room again, searching for any signs that Freya had been there.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then why are you running away?”

“It’s best for both of us if I leave. You’ve got other things to think about than me.”

“You’re lying.”

Becca suddenly stood firm, lifting her chin. “Well, you’re the expert on that, Kate.”

Steph flinched at her former name. Becca threw it at her occasionally, when she was having a bad day. Clearly Steph had underestimated the depth of her resentment all these years. There had been signs, of course: the times when the visits had felt strained, or when Becca had seemed barely there, turning her back to gaze through a crack in the curtains. But there had also been lingering affection. A sense that they had gone through a journey and that, whatever had happened, they were still family, still inescapably tied. We did it together, Becca had once said, the only time they had really discussed their crime, and her conviction. Telling them you were involved wouldn’t have changed anything for me, even later. But maybe she’d been trying to convince herself. She hadn’t looked at Steph as she had said it, hadn’t wanted to talk about it for long.

“Tell me the truth.” Now Steph couldn’t gauge her own volume: She might have been shouting or whispering. The knife slithered down her arm and emerged from her sleeve. Becca recoiled in shock.

Steph backed her into the wall, lifting the knife to her throat. “What have you done?”

The air seemed to tremble around them. Becca mouthed something, as if afraid to speak aloud with the blade so close. Steph moved it even closer. “Tell me.”

“Oh, God,” Becca said softly.

“Tell me!”

“Please . . . it wasn’t supposed to go this far.”

Steph inhaled sharply. For a second her vision went black. She grazed Becca’s jawbone with the knife. “What wasn’t?”

Tears gleamed in her cousin’s eyes. “Freya’s everything to you—”

“Yes.”

“You always avoid telling me too much about your life, but you can’t resist gushing about Freya. That’s how I knew she was the way to get at you.”

Steph’s lungs seemed to crush up into her throat. Becca had gone after Freya. Because of her. The confirmation made her buckle. It took all her strength to stay standing.

“I only wanted to scare you.” Becca began to weep. “To make you feel like your perfect life was vulnerable, it could be snatched away, like mine was . . .” Her words gathered momentum, flowing fast and angry. “I’ve been your dirty secret, kept here in this house. Before that I was locked up for something you did, something I protected you from, out of loyalty, and love . . .”

“I—”