“Daddy?”
Ms. Harper’s voice snapped through the diner like a whip—too loud, too sudden. Her papers shook in her hands, edges curled, stained with whatever passed for stress sweat and bad timing. The air felt thick—thicker—like breathing grease. Camille’s ears rang hard, fluorescent lights buzzing like they were inside her skull. Everything hurt.
Ms. Harper stood frozen. Round glasses slipping. Messy bun unraveling. Eyes wide, tracking the room like she’d just walked into a crime scene and realized the killer was someone she knew. Ellie’s face—wet, red. Adrian—white as chalk. The briefcase on the table—still open like a mouth about to eat them all.
Camille couldn’t move. Her palms were slick, hoodie clinging to her back like a second skin. Her brain went into overdrive—screaming, echoing
