I feel my eyes widen as I recall what the officer told Rafe the other day. “I thought they couldn’t find her phone?”
“They’re keeping it hush for now,” he says, stiffening as a group of people walk by, none of whom seem interested in our conversation. Stepping closer to me, he adds, “Her phone was wiped. They were able to pull some of her texts via her cloud, but not everything. Some of it was encrypted, I think. They also questioned one of her friends. A Lylah, something, about some guy who might have been giving her trouble.”
It takes everything I have to keep any ounce of recognition from my face. Lylah. Was she the same girl Rafe and I talked to? If so, the police could know all about the mysterious DW. “What did she say?”
Liam shakes his head. “Look, I shouldn’t even be telling you this stuff. Now you tell me something. What happened to you?”
I force another quick smile and pivot on my heel toward the café. “It’s nothing. I should really get going—”
“Then let me ask you about something else,” Liam says. “I googled her. That girl you told me about. Lexi Winacott.”
My feet stop listening to my brain, and I nearly trip before stopping short entirely. “You what?”
I sense his steps approach before his hand settles over my shoulder. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that, Hannah. I’m so sorry. If you need to talk about it, I’m here. I mean that. About you. About Branden... About anything. I’m not saying this out of duty, either. I care about you—”
“Branden,” I rasp, whirling around to face him. “Did you tell him? About Lexi? Did you?”
He tilts his jaw, his eyes unreadable. “No. Should I?” He scans my face as if hunting for a certain reaction. Whatever he finds makes him ask in a softer tone, “Has he told you what’s been going on with him lately? I know it’s none of my business, but…”
“What do you mean?” Dread builds in my stomach, impossible to hide any longer. Licking my lips, I once again aim for the truth. “About his suspension?”
From the way he purses his lips, he looks almost…relieved. “He told you then,” he says with a sharp nod. “He made me swear not to say anything, but I’ve been worried about him lately—what’s wrong?”
I can only imagine how I must look.
Horrified?
Behind Liam, a living shadow darts from across the street, heading straight for us. My brain identifies him instantly, but I’m nowhere near fast enough to head him off.
“Rafe!” I shout uselessly. “Don’t!”
It’s too late.
Too enraged, he doesn’t seem to hear me. In a blur of motion, he rams into Liam from behind, nearly taking him off his feet with one blow. His fist already poised for another, his upper lip drawn from his teeth in a mask of sheer rage.
I stagger between them, trying to brace my hand against Rafe’s chest. Solid muscle ripples beneath my palm, impossible to control. It’s like trying to stop a charging bull. With little effort, he pushes past me, singularly focused on his target.
“Don’t,” I shout, clawing at his forearm. “Rafe, don’t! It’s not him! He’s not Bran!”
He draws back suddenly, his fist still raised, eyes blazing without a shred of confusion contributing to the anger. Just rage. Fury. Betrayal. The second they fixate on me, I realize the truth. He knows. Whether he figured out before he hit Liam, or after, doesn’t matter, he knows now.
And his rage hits me like a blowtorch, scorching whatever pathetic excuses I had prepared for this moment.
All I can do is reach for him, sick with guilt. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—”
“Fuck you.” He squares his shoulders, turning on his heel despite the commotion swirling to life in his wake. Alarmed bystanders gape as Liam swipes at his nose. It’s bleeding.
“Let me help.” I rush to him and fish through my purse for a spare napkin. “Here.”
“What the hell was that about?” he demands, staring after Rafe, who’s already halfway down the block. “Do you know that guy?”
I say nothing, and when the worst of the bleeding stops, Liam shrugs me off. “I’ve gotta get to work,” he says, swiping at his nose. With his free hand, he snatches something from his pocket and presses it into my hand. “Here. If you need me, I’m on tonight. Damn it, that asshole’s lucky I don’t press charges.”
“Don’t,” I plead, but he’s already crossing the street, still clutching at his nose.
It isn’t until I finally turn to face the café that another realization hits with the strength of a gut punch. Mara. I race back to our table only to find her already gone. The check has been paid but scrawled across the bottom of the receipt is a simple message—Thanks for being such a good friend.
Feeling slapped, I leave the café and start down the block, hunting for any sign of her. What I’ll say if I do find her, I have no idea.
But she’s gone. I don’t even find her near the Chans’ restaurant. Desperate, I try texting her, but minutes pass without a response.
I keep walking as I wait for one, melding with the afternoon foot traffic. I’m halfway across town before I realize—I have nowhere to go.
Rafe’s feels off-limits, and my old lease runs out in just a few short days. My only haven is a building I find myself approaching out of habit.
I nearly sigh in relief once I find the Paper Crane is open, blazing with light as the sun starts to set. A few customers litter the shop as I enter and see Mr. Zhang at the counter. He eyes me warily, lingering over my bruises.
“I heard you were taking off for a few days,” he says without broaching any other topic.
“Yeah, well… I’m back,” I say, unable to come up with any reasonable excuse. The pity in his gaze warns that I don’t have
