1 2| t h e e d g e o f k n o w i n g . . .

AARON

I wasn’t supposed to be in Hermia’s house. Not again. But the universe has a twisted sense of humor.

It started with a knock on my bedroom door, sharp and controlled. My mother never knocked like someone who lived here. Only like someone who used to.

"I need you to come with me," she said, already walking away few seconds after making her way into my room.

I almost said no. But curiosity dragged me out of bed.

I hadn’t spoken to her properly in years. We lived in the same city, different worlds. When she left us years ago, she took more than her bags. She took our trust with her. Now she only returned when it served her work.

Still, she brought me here.

To Hermia.

To her.

And now we were standing in the same room, and everything between us—the things unsaid, the wounds unhealed—came rushing back like floodwater through a broken dam.

Hermia didn’t speak at first. Her eyes flickered across my face like she was reading me for signs. I tried my best to not let my emotion give me away.

I didn’t know which ones were real.

She whispered my name. I said hers.

And just when it seemed the silence might collapse into something dangerous, my eyes flickered towards someone.

Sally.

She froze when she saw me, her fingers twitching at her sides. But she quickly turned.

That fear... I’d seen it once before. At the party. That night.

She was running down the hallway, disoriented. Daniel was after her.

And then later, I saw her brother, Mason when I went to get Noah. He was alive and having an argument with Daniel. Later when I was leaving the house with Noah, he was also alone through the back door, in bruises. I merely observed and did nothing.

Now he was found dead in his own house.

_________

We sat down. I spoke little. But I watched. Mrs. Jones was joking how we all could've been best of friends if we interacted more freely.

Sally smiled too easily, her jokes too forced. She leaned into Hermia’s space, but not mine. That old comfort between us was gone. Replaced by something careful.

Then Hermia left the room to get drinks on her mom's bequest, and it was just us. Our eyes met for a brief moment before she left.

I had told her mom I had some business with her when I came in and I was surprised she even let me in despite not knowing much about me. Mrs. Jones excused herself and went inside her room leaving only Sally and I.

She didn’t look at me.

"You haven’t told her, have you?" I said quietly.

Sally’s hand tightened around the hem of her dress.

"You saw him too," I pressed.

She finally met my eyes. "I... I didn’t know if it was real. I was...drugged. Daniel spiked the drinks." Her voice cracked. "And when I saw Mason. He was bleeding. I thought it was a hallucination. I swear, Aaron... I didn’t know he was really—"

"Dead?" I finished for her.

She flinched. "I didn’t kill him."

I believed her. But the world didn’t run on belief.

“Then say it. Tell someone. Before the police decide it for you.” I nodded towards the unsuspecting Hermia who walks in with raised sharp brows.

"You still haven't stated what business you had with me, Nerdy."

_______

My mother cornered me in the living room immediately I got back in.

"There’s going to be an arrest," she said, almost like it was casual.

My stomach turned. "You’re handling the case?"

She raised an eyebrow. "A friend is. "

I nodded without a word. She raised her eyebrows at me and looked like she was about to say something before sighing and finally choking out, "Would it kill you to show some gratitude?"

"No," I said. "But I’d rather you didn’t keep showing up just to clean up other people’s families."

Her mouth twitched, but she said nothing.

Just before she walked away, she added, "They found fingerprints on the broken bottle near the body. Belongs to Sally Whitmore Parker."

It still amused me that she cared about some random girl or that she knew the said girl was related to her neighbours with whom she hasn't interacted for years now.

I sat by the window after midnight, replaying that night in my head. The way Daniel had been with Mason. The smugness he carried like a second skin. Their heated argument which had words like rival spatted out.

If anyone had motive, it was Daniel.

And Mason had something on him. I’d seen them argue, just before Mason disappeared.

Maybe Sally wasn’t the killer. Maybe she was just a cover.

And maybe I was already too deep in this to pretend I didn’t care.