Tyler’s voice was the sound of a door bending. He stood framed by the dock’s shallow light, eyes too red, clothes rumpled like he’d been running. He looked worse than a villain; he looked like someone who’d been scraped raw by regret.
“You.” I kept my knees from knocking. “You set him up.”
“No,” he said quickly. “I—I didn’t. They made me go. They told me to meet them. They told me to bring them something to prove I knew him. I went because they threatened my family.”
He looked like his hands were made of apology.
“You showed them the photo,” I said. “You posted it.”
“I posted nothing,” he said. “I sent an image to a guy and he sold it. I swear.” His voice broke like cheap glass. “I thought it was one guy. I didn’t know it’d go to a network. He sent me money. He told me it’d be just a
