Augustus let out a long breath, pressing his fingers into his temples. “It’s not just that,” he said, his voice low, thoughtful. “It’s the way everyone reacted to her tonight. Like it was normal for her to look like Willow. Like they didn’t even see how disturbing it was.”
Delilah stopped pacing long enough to look at him. “You noticed that too, right? I thought I was going crazy. It was like the whole room just accepted it.”
“It’s like they wanted her to be Willow,” Eleanor added. “They were all just going along with it.”
Augustus’ mind drifted back to the way Willow’s father had introduced Amelia to people, the way he paraded her around like she was some prize to be shown off. The whole thing had been off, deeply unsettling. But what disturbed him the most was how comfortable Amelia had seemed in that role. She had embraced it, thrived in it, like she had been waiting for this moment.
Lilia’s voice cut through the fog of his thoughts. “Her father was treating her like she was Willow,” she said, her voice tight with frustration. “I saw him do the same thing with Willow at events like these. The way he fawned over her, put her on display—he’s doing it again. With Amelia.”
Eleanor nodded. “And Amelia’s just eating it up. Like she’s enjoying it.”
“It’s like she’s been preparing for this,” Lilia said softly. Her eyes flicked up to meet Augustus’. “Like she’s been waiting for a chance to step into Willow’s shoes.”
Augustus clenched his jaw, the unease settling deeper into his gut. “There’s no way this is just her coping with grief,” he muttered. “It’s too deliberate. Too calculated.”
“So, she’s definitely on the suspect list now, right?” Delilah said, echoing the message Lilia had sent earlier. “Because this is getting insane.”
Lilia nodded slowly. “She’s acting strange, but there’s more going on here than just Amelia wanting to be Willow.”
Delilah’s pacing resumed, more frantic this time. “This can’t be just some grieving sister thing. What if she’s trying to cover something up?”
Sebastian shot her a skeptical look. “Cover what up?”
Delilah stopped, her hands clenched into fists. “What if Amelia had something to do with Willow’s death? What if she’sguilty, and now she’s trying to, I don’t know—erase Willow and take her place?”
The room fell into silence again as the weight of her words hung in the air. The idea sounded ridiculous, even outlandish, but none of them could deny how deeply disturbing Amelia’s behavior was. And there was something unsettling in the way she had stepped into Willow’s life so seamlessly, as though it had all been planned.
Eleanor broke the silence. “It’s not impossible,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “She’s acting like she has something to prove. Something to hide.”
Lilia’s gaze drifted over to the stack of papers on her desk—research they’d all been compiling in the days since the audio had leaked. Clippings, police reports, interviews, all of it leading them deeper into the labyrinth that was Willow’s life, and now, Amelia’s twisted mirror of it.
Augustus looked at the others, each of them lost in thought, their minds racing to connect the dots that had eluded them for so long. Then, as if sensing they were all on the edge of something, Lilia finally spoke again.
“We need to figure out what the hell is going on,” she said firmly.
Augustus nodded in agreement, the weight of their task pressing down on them. He glanced at the others—his friends—and saw the same determination etched on their faces. This was becoming more than they thought.
Lilia’s phone buzzed again, breaking the tense silence. She glanced down at the screen and frowned before sharing the message with the others.
“McCall wants to meet,” she said. “Tomorrow morning. Says he has something to show us.”
The room went still again, the implications of McCall’s message settling over them like a heavy fog. Whatever he had to show them, it was bound to shift everything once again.
But for tonight, all they could do was wait—and wonder just how deep this rabbit hole would go.
And whether they’d survive the fall.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
10:00 a.m.
Thanksgiving Morning
The Harbor Bridge Boathouse, near the city line
The boathouse loomed at the edge of the lake, its windows dark and foreboding against the misty, late autumn air. The overgrown reeds by the water whispered in the breeze as the friends approached the structure, the soft crunch of dead leaves beneath their feet echoing the weight of their anticipation. Lilia tugged her coat closer around her shoulders, her heart thudding heavily in her chest as she glanced at the others.
“Are you sure this is the place?” Eleanor asked, her voice low but tense, as though she didn’t want to disturb the quiet too much.
