The pier stretched out like it was holding its breath. Boards whining under each step. Briny wind snapping Camille’s hair into her mouth. Lampposts flickering in these weird, jerky bursts that made the shadows bend wrong across the churn of the ocean. Her heart thudded—fast, uneven—while that text burned in her head: Meet me at the pier tonight. And Clara’s letter, looping in the background like some sick nursery rhyme: The trust fund’s my revenge.

Ellie was fine. With Lila. At a friend’s. Safe.

Except—

Camille’s thoughts were this twisted knot. Clara’s partner? Here? Now?

I can’t—can’t let them anywhere near her.

Her palms were glued to the inside of...