The night air was heavy with the scent of rain. The city glistened under the faint glow of streetlights as Adrian drove through the empty roads, the wipers sweeping away droplets that refused to stop falling. His grip on the steering wheel tightened.

Every word Markus said replayed in his mind — “She lied. Like she always does.”

He wanted to deny it. To believe that Casandra’s tears, her weakness, her supposed illness were all real. But the image of her on that footage wouldn’t leave his mind — the dark coat, the alley, the lighter in her hand.

And then there was Rosemary.

Her pale face, her trembling hands,...