Chapter 9

Nine

G ray concrete lined the walls, and wooden chairs layered the room in stadium seating. At the bottom, a solitary podium was perched in the rays of an artificial spotlight. Top members of the police force and Castle Hill were scattered in the chairs, waiting for the briefing to begin.

Quinn sat huddled with her best friends in the hallway, peering into the room. A broken silence mingled between them, and tear stains laced all but Quinn's cheeks. She wanted to cry. She wanted to let out this unbearable agony, but she couldn't afford the tears because if she let go, if she let herself feel the emotions bubbling in her belly, she wouldn't be able to breathe. She wouldn't be able to endure.

So, instead, her eyes stung, and her mouth hurt from the weight of her unshed tears and her clenched jaw.

The first thing she did as soon as she regained composure was inform her friends. All of them immediately dropped everything to come to the morgue. Of the friends, Constance seemed the most inconsolable. A sea of agony coursed through her, and her face was a haunted shipyard devastated by a severe hurricane. From time to time, she sprayed herself with a mirror-enchanted perfume that was supposed to calm her nerves. It worked for about ten minutes before it wore off, and she'd have to use it again.

"Quinn, it's going to be okay." A gentle voice danced in her ears. She blinked, realizing she had zoned out, and found Jevon tapping on her arm. "Are you okay?"

Tap, tap, tap sounds reverberated on her arm to a perfect four-four tempo. It was strangely soothing.

Jevon, despite his near silence, always soothed her. He was a steadying source. Based on his ruffled and unkempt demeanor, he shouldn't have been so soothing. Untamed blond locks swooshed across his forehead. His attire was ruffled from his lack of care and the way he adjusted and readjusted his cuffs and tie, which was in tight contrast to Quinn's charcoal medical examiner uniform that she ironed meticulously every night before bed, keeping them perfectly tailored and uncreased.

His presence should have grated against her need for perfection, but instead, he was precisely what she needed.

Staring at his still-tapping fingers, her mind twirled into place. "It's not going to be okay. I killed her."

After gaining her composure, she remembered her deal. She failed and was bound to have consequences from it. Jane's death couldn't be a coincidence, could it? Quinn was normally rational, but in this, her brain was broken. It wasn't thinking straight. There was no concept of straight anymore.

"I killed her," she let out a whispered whimper.

"No, you didn't," Constance said softly. "You didn't murder her."

"No, but I failed to complete my mirror deal, and this is the consequence."

"Or it is a coincidence?" Jevon said, squeezing her shoulder. "You can't know it was your fault. Think of it rationally; Jane had been cagey for weeks now. It's very possible she died for completely unrelated reasons."

A mix of emotions licked across Quinn's skin, and she let out another whimper. She hated how well her friends knew her and how she couldn't hide from them. Jevon knew she held rationality above all else, and he clocked that her thoughts were straying from reason. She wanted to hate him for it. But how could she?

Friendship was about seeing the rough parts of one another and working through them.

And as much as Quinn wanted to lean into reason and Jevon's words, she couldn't. Because what if she was responsible? Would she ever be able to forgive herself? "This is all my fault."

Jevon's azure eyes locked on her, and he squeezed her arm again. "Your brain is quite fascinating, Quinny. I just saw you acknowledge I could be right, and then you fell back into a black hole of guilt and shame."

"Stop being so damn observant. I hate it."

"If it makes you feel better, only he can see that," Constance said, "otherwise, you're excellent at hiding how you are truly feeling. I often find you an impossible nut to crack. I often have to ask him to interpret you to me."

It did make Quinn feel better because she didn't want anyone to see her brokenness.

"Giselle is the same, by the way." Constance pointed at the brunette with her thumb.

Giselle scoffed. "I am far more observant than you."

"Yet we all missed whatever was happening with Jane." Jevon's eyes darkened with sadness as he rested his head against the wall.

The friends descended into a silent tableau of sorrow. Jevon's face paled to the color of falling snow. Giselle's shoulders sagged like a deflating balloon as she opened the book in her hands, and Constance looked like pure devastation.

Jane was more than just a friend to Constance.

She was an idol.

But she wasn't just Constance's idol. Every ballerina loved her and wanted to be her—except for her terrible deal. Jane was the best ballerina to grace the stage of the Queen's Royalle Ballet. Her artistry was unmatched. But more than that, she was a friend. Someone people could count on in their hardest moments. Someone who understood hardships and was so much more than a teacher. If anyone needed to cry, Jane was there.

She was warm, passionate, and beautiful. She was a light. And now she was gone.

Quinn swallowed; her throat was on fire from the pain of holding back tears. "It's still possible I did this without holding the weapon."

"Stop it. Someone else killed her." Giselle slammed her book closed. "You cannot hold the blame for that."

"The only thing I can do now for her is find the blade. Find the person who killed her. I owe her that much. I am going to perform an autopsy. But she has a gang tattoo—" Quinn trailed off at the gasps from her friends.

None of them knew it because Jane hid so many things from them—far too many things. Possibly things that got her murdered.

"What?" Both Jevon and Giselle said at once.

Quinn's shoulders slumped, and she picked at her shirt cuff. "It doesn't make any sense."

A vein in Constance's neck budged as she said, "But that means she'll have no justice."

"I know," Quinn breathed. But she wasn't willing to let her friend die without justice. She would do something, anything, to ensure that. Now, ballet and the morgue and Mirror-Rites held no importance.

The only thing that mattered was getting revenge for Jane.

Constance wrung her hands. "Screw the gang law. Jane deserves justice. We'll just have to find the person responsible and make them hang for it."