Lily’s POV

I stepped into the house with the residual heat of the attack still simmering under my skin. Every part of me wanted to walk straight upstairs, throw open Mia’s door, and confront her. The words were already forming on my tongue sharp, accusing, final. But halfway across the living room I stopped.

A memory cut through the anger.

A week ago, while Mia was out and the house was quiet, I had slid a small voice recorder deep under her bed, tucked against the wall where no one would think to look. At the time it had been a precaution. Now it felt like the only smart move...