Chapter 6

The silence on the line stretched so thin it felt like wire pulling tight against my skin.

Theo didn't deny it.

He didn't drop the phone, and he didn't stutter out a frantic, guilty lie.

He just breathed—softly, carefully—into the receiver, as if waiting for me to give him the correct script to read.

"Sienna," he started, his voice dropping into that smooth, reasonable register he used when negotiating logistics.

"You were sick, and I couldn't find the glaze notes anywhere. I took pictures of a few pages. I didn't take the notebook."

"You were in my bedroom," I said…