Vivian sat on the edge of her bed, elbows resting on her knees, fingers pressing into her temples as if she could push the thoughts away. The interview had been cold, methodical, but it had given her something to focus on—answer the questions, control the narrative, walk out intact.

Now, in the silence of her dorm, she had nothing but Mercer’s voice looping in her head.

“Did you ever get the feeling Serena was dangerous?”

The words didn’t make sense.

Serena wasn’t dangerous.

Not to Vince. Not to her.

Vivian had grown up with Serena looking out for her, shielding her from things she hadn’t even realized were threats until much later.

She had been thirteen when she moved in with Serena and their uncle, after her parents were killed in a robbery gone wrong. People had spoken about it in hushed voices around her, their words detached, as if she couldn’t hear them. Wrong place, wrong time. That was all anyone ever said.

She had accepted it without question. She had to.

There had been no one else to take her in, no relatives stepping forward. Just Serena, barely fifteen, and their uncle, who was too deep in his own debts to care.

Serena had done everything she could to protect her.

At fourteen, Vivian learned exactly what that meant.

Their uncle had always been a mean drunk, but he had never focused on her before. Not until one night when his anger turned, when the shouting became threats, when he grabbed her wrist and yanked her forward.

Serena had stepped between them without hesitation.

“Don’t touch her. Hit me instead.”

And he had.

Vivian still remembered the sound of it, the sharp crack of his palm against Serena’s cheek, the way her head had snapped to the side. But she had stayed standing.

She had always stayed standing.

By the time Vivian was fifteen, Serena was bringing home money. She never explained where it came from, just handed Vivian a bag of school clothes at the start of the year like it was normal, like she had always been the one to do it.

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“You’re gonna be the smart one, yeah? So you better dress like it.”

Vivian hadn’t asked.

She had just put the clothes on.

That was the year she met Vince.

She had been fourteen, scrawny, still growing into herself, still figuring out where she fit in Serena’s world. He was seventeen, the same age as Serena, sharp-eyed and cocky, already walking through life like he knew exactly where he belonged.

“You’re the baby, huh?” he had teased, nudging her shoulder. “You gonna be as much of a pain in the ass as your sister?”

She had scowled, and he had laughed.

By sixteen, Vince was family.

Vivian had spent birthdays with them, the three of them splitting a cheap cake from an Asian bakery, sitting on the floor of Serena’s apartment, plastic forks scraping against the cardboard box.

“Make a wish, little nerd,” Serena had teased.

By seventeen, they had both been at her high school graduation.

Serena had worn a dress she bought for the occasion, Vince in a too-expensive suit that didn’t quite fit him right. They had stood on either side of her, arms around her shoulders, grinning as they took photos.

“You made it,” Serena had said, squeezing her tightly. “You’re out. You’re free.”

And then—

The last time she saw them together.

Serena’s birthday.

The VIP section of Mirage had been filled with Serena and Vince’s friends, the air thick with laughter, flashing lights, the bass from the music vibrating underfoot. Vivian had felt out of place, but she had been happy for Serena.

She remembered how Serena had waved her over, pulling her into a hug.

“Guess what?”

“What?”

Serena had lifted her hand, flashing the engagement ring.

Vivian had blinked in surprise before breaking into a smile. “Wait—really?”

“Really,” Serena had confirmed, eyes bright.

Vince had chuckled beside her, his arm draped around her waist, his smirk softer than usual. “Finally got her to say yes.”

Vivian had hugged them both.

And now—

Her stomach clenched violently.

Her hands trembled as she reached for her phone, her fingers hovering over Serena’s name in her contacts.

She already knew how this would end.

But she pressed call anyway.

The line rang.

Once.

Twice.

Then it went to voicemail.

Silence. Then an automated voice telling her the number she had dialed wasn’t available.

Vivian closed her eyes.

Serena had never recorded a voicemail message.

She had never thought she needed one.

Vivian had never thought she needed one either.

But now, sitting here, in the quiet of her room, she wished she could hear her voice.

Even if it was just a second-long clip telling her to leave a message she might never return.

Her breath cracked, a sharp, aching sound escaping before she could stop it.

She had held it together for days, through Vince’s murder, through the police interview, through everything Noah had put her through.

She had done everything right.

But none of it had changed the fact that Vince was dead and Serena was gone.

The only two people who had ever been there for her, the only two people she had ever been able to rely on, had been ripped away from her within days of each other.

Her breath caught as she pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes, her body folding forward as the first sob ripped through her.

Vince was gone.

Serena was gone.

And she had no one left.

The grief came in waves, crashing over her all at once, the kind of pain that had no edges, no shape, just a weight that settled deep into her chest, heavy enough to break something inside her.

She hadn’t let herself feel it before.

She had been too busy surviving.

But now, alone, with no one watching, with no more distractions, she let it drown her.