Saxim pulls away and silences me with one of her ocean-deep stares. “I know this is scary, but you have no context for the conversation you overheard,” she says in even tones, hands cupping my shoulders. Gnarled bushes judder in the wind outside the window behind her. “The first time you heard the name Mitso Arakit was from a stranger in an information center earlier today. You need to take a breath. Okay?”

“Okay, girls?” Mina mimics, scratching toward us. “Your heart rates are elevated.” Her panel shows only placid, friendly blues and greens.

I feel the heat emanating from Saxim and lean into her, craving human warmth. For the first time in years, I’m awake in the darkest corners of the real world, and the cheapest, most readily available painkiller in the world—the one in my goddamn pocket every minute of the day, the one monogrammed TFH—isn’t helping.

The sad thing is, it wasn’t even actual pain that stopped me from examining the dark side all these years. It was the anticipation of pain.

I never felt pain at all, because I woke up scrolling through my phone, and I fell asleep scrolling through my phone. I wasn’t born scrolling through my phone, but sometimes I hoped I would die that way, because I wouldn’t even realize I’m gone.

Maybe I’m just the irresponsible high school dropout Noni thinks I am, but I’m not afraid of inviting more pain in right now, not if it’ll sharpen me and banish this confusion for good.

We need to know the truth about Mitso Arakit.

At the apartment, I find Nons curled up on the sofa, safe, and we fall into each other—I kiss her cheeks, her forehead, her ears, and I pull her into bed, where I lift the comforter over our heads. We lie face-to-face so that I can whisper everything to her. Her moon-pale face wrinkles with concern under the eerie light of my cell phone.

“Saxim is right,” she whispers to me. “We don’t know the truth about Mitso. If he really stalked Mama. What this accident of his was, and when it happened. If he was … hurt by Nítuchí.” Her eyes flash in the dark. “Why would Nítuchí hurt Mama’s stalker, without Dad even knowing?”

I sigh, wrapping the edge of the comforter around my hand. “I don’t know.”

We sit in silence for several moments before she speaks again. “I still don’t understand why Dad wouldn’t come forward about this. To us, to Teddy, to someone.”