“I didn’t think you’d actually come,” Chloe said, pulling her hands back to her lap.

“I didn’t know who else to turn to,” I said, letting a tear pool in the corner of my eye. “Lucas is gone, Chloe.”

She flinched slightly at his name, her fingers tightening on her napkin.

“What do you mean, gone?” she asked, trying to sound surprised.

“He cleared out his closet,” I lied, keeping my tone flat and broken. “His passport is missing from the desk.”

I watched her eyes carefully.

A tiny, involuntary spark of satisfaction flared in her pupils before she masked it.

She knew he was gone, because she knew exactly where he was.

“I’m so sorry, Anne,” she said, her voice dripping with artificial sympathy. “That’s horrible.”

“I don’t know what I did wrong,” I whispered, looking down at the table.

The waiter returned, setting down two heavy ceramic teapots and two cups.

The steam rose between us, smelling of bergamot and bitter herbs.

As Chloe reached for her teapot, her elbow brushed her phone, nudging it closer to the center of the table.