“He wanted you to join Kappa Phi Omicron,” I say, latching on to this break—Colin thinking of his own experiences, prior to his life as Jay.

A strangled noise at the back of his throat. He closes his eyes and for a moment I think I’ve lost him. These Greek letters we’ve been dancing around the past few weeks. I should have saved them for the right moment. Instead, I blew it.

Colin lets out a breath. “He said they’d make a man of me.”

Oliver shifts in his seat. I give a small shake of my head. Not yet, I will him. Don’t push yet.

“That fraternity men are leaders. They’re honorable men. They understand loyalty and respect.” A bewildered twitch of the mouth.

“Did they?”

“I guess it depends on what your definition of honor is.”

I pause for Oliver’s benefit, to let that sink in.

“So your father was a Kap-O,” Oliver says. “You were a legacy.”

Colin grimaces, and I think of the weight of that word: “legacy.” Like “birthright” or “inheritance,” it’s a way for the past to insert its will over the present. And with that special status comes high stakes. If Colin hadn’t gotten a bid, his father would have seen it as a personal rejection. And after his job loss, he would have taken it particularly hard. No wonder Colin lied to him.

“You were a pledge last fall,” I say.

“Yeah.”

Both Jay and Colin were pledges. But Jay would have pledged the year before. This is another confirmation we’re talking to Colin and not some alter-Jay persona.

“What was it like,” I ask, my voice brimming with curiosity, “at the house?”

“Fun.” He shrugs. “Lots of parties. Girls. Alcohol.” He raises an eyebrow, testing to see if we’ll react—lecture him about underage drinking—but he should know we’re well past that.

“Did you go through hell week?”

“Everyone did.”

“We talked to some of the brothers who went through it this year.” I lean in, feeling we’re getting closer, my heart hammering, seeing Truman buckling his seat belt. “And they told us about the basement.”

Colin pales. “They shouldn’t have done that.”

“Done what?” I ask, giving him a puzzled expression. Although I know. Loyalty. Brotherhood. Thoughtless allegiance.

“And we know Jay told Katie,” I add. “About what happened there.”

I’m only guessing, but it doesn’t matter.

His eyes shoot up. I half expect him to insist he’s Jay again and steel myself for another round of detangling identities.

But he simply shakes his head.

I frown. “The other brothers thought he was a traitor.”

“Well he was—wasn’t he? They were just wrong about why.”

And there it is—the clear delineation between Colin and Jay: referring to Jay in the third person.