Two weeks go by in a flash. Usually, time moves in fits and starts for me, but the two weeks between receiving the summons and leaving for Sacramento pass in a blur of packing and arranging, and scheduling time off work. I decide to book a hotel for the night before the hearing, rather than risk getting caught in rush-hour traffic the next morning, and I feel a rush of excitement as I pick it out online and scroll through the pictures of the neatly arranged guest rooms and on-site restaurant where I plan to order an enormous steak for dinner.

By the time I pull into the hotel parking lot, however, I’m exhausted from a long day at work and the two-hour drive. I check in and go straight up to my room, deciding to order the steak via room service. I change into my pajamas and send my mother a text so she won’t worry about me, although I don’t tell her where I am. I’m still hoping to be back at home before she ever has to know.

The next morning, I drive to the courthouse. I’m taken aback by the mob on the front stairs. Dozens of reporters, microphones, and cameras are at the ready, broadcasting out the story of the victims of Pyrite Ranch. I hear the phrases “insane cult leader” and “innocent victims of a horrible scheme” repeated over and over. Here and there, I see what I think are familiar faces, but it’s hard to be sure. None of them are Rachel, James, Olivia, or Bev. Maybe I knew them at the ranch, but with their civilian clothes and modern haircuts, with makeup and sunglasses and hats, it’s impossible to be sure of anyone.

“Tammy!” a voice calls over the din. “Tammy Owens!”

I turn. A woman is standing a few yards behind me, waving both arms over her head to get my attention. It takes me a moment to recognize her.

“Miriam?”

Her face lights up like I’ve done something remarkable and she beckons me over. I thread my way through the crowd and arrive at her side, and she flings her arms around me. I return the embrace, somewhat reluctantly.

Miriam makes a show of looking me up and down. I check her out in return. She’s lost a considerable amount of weight and is dressed to accentuate that fact, in clothes that drape and expose her bony limbs. Her face is heavily made up. She wears big, chunky costume jewelry, and her hair has been elaborately styled for the occasion. I would feel underdressed, except for the fact that she is so clearly the one who’s out of place here.

“Hi, Miriam,” I say. “It’s good to see you again.”

“How are you doing?” she asks, the deeply sympathetic tone in her voice implying that perhaps I’m completely bedridden with despair. “Are you holding up all right?”

“Well, you know,” I say. “It was a long time ago.”

“But I heard you’re still single,” she says in a hushed voice.

I try to disguise the fact that I’m scanning the room for Connor. “I’m not dating right now, no.”

“God, you poor thing.” She hugs me again.

“Uh-huh.”

It’s impossible to take Miriam seriously. I’d like to know where she gets her information, but the truth is that she’s always been such a successful gossip that I really can’t be too surprised to find her in the know. The bigger surprise would have been if she wasn’t up to date on my life.

The biggest surprise of all, though, is that Connor is nowhere to be seen. I’m sure I would have spotted him, even in this crowd. He’s haunted my dreams since the last time we spoke, and the idea of missing him, of walking right by him, is unthinkable. If he was here, I would notice. I would see him.

Wouldn’t I?

I feel like his presence would sing out to me like he was calling my name. It would be impossible to ignore. And yet…do I really believe he isn’t here at all? Would he miss such a monumental event?

That is…unless it wasn’t monumental to him.

Of course it wasn’t, a voice in my head berates me. It was just a job to him. It wasn’t a disruption of his entire way of life. It wasn’t anything. He probably hasn’t thought about it since, and why should he?

Now that I think about it, I’m sure he’s busted up multiple cults since ours. He’s participated in dozens of missions. Pyrite wasn’t special. It only matters to me because it was my life. To Connor, it would have been just another in a long series of victories.

I feel myself blushing, and I turn and walk away from Miriam before she can question me further. Maybe it was a mistake to come here. I should have known Connor wouldn’t be involved.

I should have known our relationship meant nothing to him.