I tried to take a breath, but I couldn’t seem to grab hold of the air. It just flew right through my body without actually bringing any oxygen to my lungs. My muscles cramped, and I heard Griffin mutter a curse though it sounded far away. Suddenly, I was lying down, the grass cool against my back with Griffin hovering over me. Worry, no…panic, etched his features. “Caelyn, I need you to breathe. Slow and steady.”

He raised and lowered a hand, guiding me through the breaths. Before long, my muscles seemed to release, and the world didn’t seem quite so fuzzy anymore. “I’m okay,” I croaked.

Griffin scowled. “You’re not okay.” He slowly helped me into a sitting position. “Do you want to go to the hospital? Go see Dr. Kipton?”

“No. No doctors. I’m fine. I just…” I didn’t know how to answer that. I’d just lost it.

Griffin cupped my cheeks, his large hands engulfing my face. “You’re allowed to feel whatever you need to. Just know I’ve got you.”

The burning in my eyes was back, but for a whole new reason. “I know.”

Parker cleared his throat. “Should I call the EMTs?”

“No.” I pushed to my feet, Griffin close by my side. “I’m fine. Really. I just…I need to know what happened.”

Parker looked understandably skeptical about sharing any details with a woman who’d almost hyperventilated herself into fainting. Griffin motioned him towards some benches that were at the front of the house. “Let’s sit. Then you can tell us everything.”

I squeezed Griffin’s hand. A silent thank you for having my back, for not allowing Parker to hide things from me out of some misguided protective instinct. We eased down onto the benches, Griffin plastered to my side and Parker on his own bench. He surveyed my face for a moment before proceeding as if checking to see if I could handle it. “She was stabbed.”

I swallowed against the bile creeping up my throat. A part of me hated my mother. Some days, that piece was larger than the others. But I loved her, too. And just like the hate, that bit fluctuated. But even on the days when I hated her the most, when Ava had a nightmare about the past, or Will took too much on his shoulders, or Mia asked why her parents didn’t love her… Even on those days, I wouldn’t have wished her dead. I simply wished for justice to be served. This wasn’t justice.

Parker continued. “So far, no witnesses. And you know that neighborhood. It’s not like there were security cameras.” He turned a piece of gravel over with the toe of his boot. “There was a message.”

“Where?” I asked.

“On the wall. It said: Traitor.”