Page 60 of Sweet Sinners
I wanther.
"He’s not the bad guy, is he?" she asks, eyes still fixed on the screen.
"Why do you think he is?"
"Well, he’s never around when the murders—or the attempted murders—happen. He’s just mysteriously missing. And also, whose house doesn’t have the garage off the kitchen if it’s in the back? He would’ve seen her walk by and should’ve heard his girlfriend screaming for help. How did no one hear her?"
She’s rambling, piecing it together, her frown deepening.
I can’t help but watch her, admiring the way her mind works. "It’s just a movie."
"Yeah, I get that, but still…" she trails off, chewing on her lip, her mind still spinning.
"If you’re up for a horror where the female lead actually outsmarts everyone, I’ve got the perfect movie in mind," I offer, watching her reaction.
She eyes me warily.
"Maybe more than one," I add, voice dipping lower. "I’ve got a lot of catching up to do, you know?"
"Don't even think about it. I'm not your horror movie buddy," she grumbles, crossing her arms, but there’s a lightness in her voice that wasn’t there before.
I should let it go, take the win that she’s relaxed, but the words stick to my ribs.
She says it like it’s a joke. Like there’s someotherperson I could be watching movies with. But she’s the only one here. The only person in this whole damn house who actuallyseesme, not just as some obligation or shadow of the past.
She’s the onlybuddyI’ve got.
The thought stings more than I expect.
I glance at screen, but my mind is nowhere near the movie anymore. True crime channels have been reaching out, eager to hear my side of the story—some sensationalized, others posing as justice-seekers. I’ve shut them all down. Even if clearing my name meant reclaiming some semblance of freedom, I won’t do it at the cost of Cali’s future.
I’ve already been reckless once before, back when I found our parents. I can’t afford another mistake.
"Hey." Cali nudges me with a sharp elbow to my side.
"What?" I blink, turning to her.
"You’re not even watching," she huffs, frustration laced in her voice, but there’s curiosity there too—like she knowsexactlywhat kind of thoughts I’ve been drowning in.
"How can you tell?"
"Because you're staringpastthe TV." She narrows her eyes. "I know when you zone out."
I don’t answer, just smirk a little, shakingmy head.
She exhales, brushing her hair over one shoulder. "I guess this is a good time then…"
I arch a brow. "Are you about to make me pause this?"
She waves her hand dismissively, but I hit pause anyway. If she’s about to say something, I don’t want her missing any crucial parts—or the best kills.
She circles around to my side of the couch, and my pulse kicks up in response. I don’t know why. She disappears into the kitchen for a second, rummages through something, then comes back holding a small bag, shaking her head to herself.
"I meant to give this to you last weekend, but it completely slipped my mind," she says, tossing it lightly onto my lap.
I frown, picking up the bag. "What is it?"
"Just open it," she says, avoiding my gaze like she’s afraid of my reaction.
