The cold coastal air hit my face, smelling of salt and wet earth.

I walked up the gravel path, my boots crunching loudly in the dark.

I reached the porch and stood before the heavy oak door.

Through the glass pane, I could see into the living room.

Maren was sitting on the sofa, her face pale and drawn.

Celeste stood near the fireplace, holding a glass of white wine.

She looked perfectly at ease, her designer coat draped over the back of a chair.

On the coffee table between them lay a thick blue folder.

I knew what was inside that folder.

It was the truth.

I turned the doorknob.

The door was unlocked.

I stepped into the warm hallway, the floorboards creaking under my weight.

Both women turned their heads toward me.

“Adrian,” Celeste said, smiling faintly. “You made good time.”

Maren did not smile.

Her eyes were red, and she looked at me with a mixture of anger and deep exhaustion.

“Adrian,” Maren whispered. “She told me.”

“Maren, I can explain,” I said, taking a step forward.