30

Sophie

The pounding at the door ripped me out of sleep like a gunshot. My whole body lurched, heart thundering, the echo of it bouncing around the small cottage. For a disoriented second, I thought maybe it was just a dream, but the sound came again—louder, sharper, demanding. Ava sat up next to me, clutching the blanket to her chest, her eyes wide with alarm. We both knew. Nobody knocks like that unless it’s trouble.

Jenna’s door creaked open, and she stumbled out, barefoot, hair wild, wearing only a wrinkled T-shirt. She muttered something under her breath, but she didn’t hesitate. She walked straight to the door like she owned the place, like she hadn’t been the one to put a bullet in a man just nights ago. My stomach twisted. If she could keep that mask on, maybe we’d be okay.

The door swung open, and two officers stood framed in the pale morning light. Their uniforms were crisp, their faces solemn, and just like that, the air inside the cottage turned icy. My lungs squeezed tight, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

“Good morning,” the taller one said, his tone businesslike. His eyes scanned past Jenna, landing squarely on me and Ava where we hovered in the living room. “We’re looking for information about a young man. His name’s Kyle. Family says he’s missing. Last seen at the bar in town. Bartender said he left with three women who match your description.”

The words dropped like stones into the room, heavy and unrelenting. My fingers dug into the blanket around me, knuckles white. Beside me, Ava’s lips parted as though she might say something, then snapped shut. My pulse was a drumbeat in my ears.

Jenna didn’t flinch. She leaned one hand against the doorframe, cocked her head slightly, and gave them that cool little smirk she used whenever she wanted to look in control. “Yeah,” she said easily. “We know who you’re talking about.”

The shorter officer raised an eyebrow. “You do?”

I wanted to scream. I wanted to grab Jenna and drag her back inside before she gave us away. But then she threw her glance over her shoulder at me, and I realized what she was doing—leaning into confidence, selling it so hard it almost felt real.

“He came back here with us,” Jenna said plainly. “Hung out for a while. Sophie hooked up with him. Me and Ava just watched.” She shrugged, casual as a shrug could be, like she was recounting a bad movie.

Both officers blinked at her bluntness, their surprise almost comical if it weren’t so terrifying. I swallowed, forcing myself to nod. “That’s true,” I added, voice steadier than I felt. “But he left after. Walked out on his own. We haven’t seen him since.”

The taller officer narrowed his eyes, studying us. “No argument? No sign of distress?”

“None,” I said quickly. “He was fine. A little drunk, sure, but fine.” Ava gave a faint nod, finally lending her silent agreement, though her hands were trembling in her lap.

The officers exchanged a look, a whole silent conversation passing between them that I couldn’t decipher. My chest constricted, waiting for the floor to drop out from under us. Finally, the shorter one sighed. “Alright. If you hear from him, or if he contacts you, let us know.”

Jenna flashed them a smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “Of course. We’ll be in touch if anything changes.”

One of them handed her a card, and then they stepped back, boots crunching on the gravel. The cruiser door slammed, the engine rumbled, and then they were gone. Just like that, silence swallowed the cottage whole.

Ava exhaled sharply, collapsing back against the couch like she’d been holding her breath for hours. “Holy shit,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “They were right here. They were right fucking here.”

Jenna closed the door with a snap and leaned against it, her mask slipping just enough to reveal the tension in her jaw. “They bought it,” she said. “We’re fine. We just have to keep it together.”

I pressed my palms to my face, heat prickling my skin. “Fine?” I hissed. “Kyle’s dead, Jenna. We buried him in a quarry, and the cops are already asking questions.” My voice cracked on the last word. “We are not fine.”

Jenna’s eyes cut to me, sharp and unyielding. “We are if we stick to the story. That’s all they have—a bartender saying we left with him. That doesn’t prove shit. And we didn’t lie. He was here. You did sleep with him. And then he left.”

Her words were so smooth, so convincing, I almost forgot the truth for half a second. But then the image of Kyle’s lifeless body flashed in my mind, and bile rose in my throat. “Yeah,” I whispered bitterly. “He left. Just not the way they think.”

Ava rubbed her temples, her voice trembling. “What if they go back to the bar? What if they ask other people? What if someone saw us leaving with him?”

“Then we stick to the story,” Jenna said firmly, pushing off the door. “We don’t crack. We don’t get sloppy. We’re three women on vacation, we had some fun, and he went home. End of story.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. My hands shook, my thoughts scrambled, but I forced myself to breathe, to nod, to pretend I believed in Jenna’s certainty. Because if I didn’t, everything would unravel.

Finally, Jenna clapped her hands together, trying to slice through the tension. “Showers. Breakfast. Diner in town. We act normal. That’s the only way this works.”

I looked at Ava, her wide eyes reflecting the fear in mine. We didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. The truth was buried out there in the quarry, under dirt and rocks and the weight of our silence.

So we moved through the motions, forcing ourselves into the rhythm of normalcy—showering, dressing, gathering our things. I couldn’t shake the heaviness pressing down on me, the certainty that the cops’ questions weren’t over.

By the time we stepped out into the morning sun, walking toward the diner like any ordinary girls on a beach trip, my stomach churned with the weight of the lie we had agreed to live by. And though I forced a smile when Jenna cracked a joke about pancakes, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Kyle’s ghost was walking right behind us.