The conference room at the station was far too small for that much guilt.
Detective Owens sat at the head of the table. Assistant DA Whitman sat beside him with a folder so thin it almost looked harmless.
Ari Kaplan sat on our side.
Silent.
Expensive.
A legal sword in a navy suit.
Lily sat next to me with both hands folded in her lap. She had asked three times during the drive if she had to speak.
“No,” Ari told her every time. “You only answer if I say it is safe.”
Across from us sat my parents and Jenna.
My mother had dressed as though she were going to church. My father kept clearing his throat. Jenna wore sunglasses on top of her head indoors, which felt like exactly the kind of choice that had brought us here.
Detective Owens opened the folder.
“We have reviewed new evidence,” he said. “The goal today is to clarify the accurate sequence of events.”
My mother’s eyes flicked toward me.
Not worried about Lily.
Not sorry.
Annoyed that I had escalated.
Whitman slid the first still across the table.
Jenna in front of my house.
Then another.
Jenna walking toward the Civic.
Then another.
Jenna behind the wheel.
Alone.
No Lily.
No confusion.
No darkness.
No mistaken identity.
Just Jenna and the car she had no right to drive.
Lily’s hand tightened around mine once.
Then loosened.
Owens continued.
“Lily Collins’s phone data also shows consistent activity from her home during the crash window. Messages, streaming data, timestamps. Everything supports that she was inside her residence at the time.”
The room went quiet.
Not the peaceful kind.
The kind where everyone hears the story collapse and waits to see who will scream first.
Whitman looked at my parents.
