Weber starts taking notes.

‘I thought it was kind of weird,’ I lie, my voice growing stronger. ‘I was running errands, so I stopped by. But when I got there, he was acting crazy.’

Weber looks up. ‘What do you mean, crazy?’

I brace myself. ‘He was obsessed with me,’ I tell him, spinning the story that will set all of this to rest. ‘He’d been asking me out for months, showing up when I was working, sending me texts, calling all the time.’

I can feel Weber’s eyes on me, studying.

‘It was my fault too,’ I admit. ‘I kissed him, just once,’ I lie quickly. ‘He was so charming and interesting and . . . But I stopped it, I told him; but he wouldn’t listen. When I got to the house, he was saying how we could run away together, get out of town. He had the knife.’

‘What kind of knife?’

‘Ethan’s hunting knife,’ I whisper. ‘Oliver got it for him, for his birthday. I was scared, and then Ethan showed up. That’s when things got crazy. Oliver was ranting, angry, saying how we had to get rid of Ethan, so we could be together,’ I shudder. ‘He wanted me to hurt him, hurt Ethan, but I wouldn’t. I would never hurt him. Then Ethan lunged and they were fighting . . . It all happened so fast.’ My voice shakes. ‘They were on the ground, and Ethan was hurt, and then Oliver dropped the knife . . . ’

I shudder, remembering the glint of light on steel. The weight of the blade in my hand.

Weber paces, absently rubbing his bald spot. ‘So it was self-defensc?’ There’s a note of hope in his voice. ‘Oliver stabbed Ethan, and he killed him in self-defence.’

‘Yes!’ I cry. ‘Ethan didn’t have a choice. He would never hurt him, but Oliver came at him, and then . . . then I couldn’t tell what happened, they struggled, and there was all the blood . . . Oliver went down and . . . he didn’t get up.’

My voice breaks on the final word and I reach for the end of the bed to hold myself up. Oliver, lifeless on the ground. The flames swallowing his body.

An ending. His life, done.

Weber stops pacing. He looks like he’s aged ten years tonight, everything about his face haggard and worn out. ‘Was he dead when you left him?’ he asks slowly.

‘I don’t know. He wasn’t moving, but there wasn’t time to check. I was so scared,’ I add. ‘It all happened so fast, and then there was fire, and Ethan was bleeding . . . ’ I stop, choking back a sob. ‘I thought we were all going to die!’

It sounds true, because it is. Fragments of fact, pieces of what happened, stitched together in a new shape. Weber could never understand what led us to that moment, so I don’t even try to explain. It’s already too late. What happened in that house is only blood and ashes now; telling the truth won’t bring Oliver back, heal the wounds on Ethan’s body, or wipe the last eight months from my mind.

All that matters now is assigning the blame.

‘It was Oliver,’ I say again. ‘It’s all Oliver’s fault. He was dangerous, I just didn’t realize until it was too late.’

After the hunting trip, I couldn’t think about anything but him. We didn’t spend a moment alone together, but somehow, that didn’t matter. It was the guilt and anticipation; the delicious adrenalin rush I felt meeting his eyes across the room, even with Ethan’s arm slung around my shoulder.

It was a fever dream¸ and I couldn’t get enough.

I was on edge, wound tight with wanting him. Every time the front doors of the sheriff’s department swung open, I expected to see him there, sauntering in to lounge by my desk and remind me just what I’d done out there in the woods with him.

‘Hey, babe.’

My heart caught in my chest, but it was just Ethan, smiling as he held the door open for someone on their way out of the station. He came over and kissed me on the cheek, his skin chilled and his ears tipped with red from the cold.

‘Hey.’ I pulled away, confused. ‘Did we have plans? I checked my phone, but—’

‘I need an excuse to come visit my beautiful girlfriend?’ Ethan asked. ‘No, we’re stuck waiting on some deliveries, so I figured I’d drop by. I’m sorry I’ve been so busy with work,’ he added, taking my hand. ‘I’ll make it up to you.’

‘No, it’s fine, you haven’t,’ I protested.

‘I have,’ Ethan argued. ‘Olly even said I’d been neglecting you.’

I froze. Oliver?

‘He did?’ I asked carefully.

‘Yup, gave me a whole lecture, said I shouldn’t be taking you for granted,’ Ethan grinned. ‘Except he used a bunch more words and, like, five different metaphors.’

‘Right.’ I forced a smile. ‘Sounds like him.’

My mind raced. Oliver sent him over here, but why? To remind me what I’d betrayed with Ethan and keep me on edge? I’d been pulling away from Ethan all week, guiltily laying the groundwork to break up with him, but now I wondered if Oliver really wanted to be with me, or just liked the thrill of this, the chase. Another game.

And if he did, that meant it was my move.

‘So, you coming for lunch?’ Ethan asked.

‘I can’t,’ I told him, relieved it wasn’t just an excuse. ‘I have to stay on the desk. Weber asked me to edit his statements too and I have all these computer records to update . . . ’

‘But they’ll all still be waiting when you get back.’ Ethan captured my hand again, tugging lightly, a charming smile on his face. ‘C’mon . . . I’ll treat you to shakes at the diner. No one will mind.’

‘I said no.’ I pulled my hand back, feeling a flash of irritation at how oblivious he was. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t just leave. I need this job, remember? I’m not the boss’s son.’

Ethan’s smile dropped. ‘That’s not fair.’

‘I’m just saying, I don’t get to waltz off anytime I like.’

‘And I was just trying to do something nice for you, that’s all.’ Ethan looked confused. ‘You’ve been so distant lately, you’re under so much stress . . . Don’t be mad at me for trying to help.’

I exhaled. ‘Of course, you’re right.’ He always was. ‘It was sweet of you to think of me, but I really can’t leave.’

‘Then how about dinner?’ Ethan suggested hopefully. ‘Come over to the house. Mom says she hasn’t seen you in ages.’