The Three Who Chose Me

Varen

I paced the length of my room for the tenth time, my bare feet echoing against the stone floor. The moonlight filtered in through the tall window, casting a silver glow across the walls. Josie had finally fallen asleep a little while ago—if that fragile state of unconsciousness could even be called sleep. Her body had curled so tightly into itself, and she kept murmuring under her breath, things she probably didn’t even realize she was saying.

But I heard them. I heard every damn word.

"She said they didn’t tell her to play," I muttered, running a hand through my hair in frustration. My jaw clenched as I turned and paced again. "She said it wasn’t them."

Thorne exhaled from his spot on the edge of the bed. "She was hallucinating again, Varen. She’s not lucid."

"And you think that makes it less important?" I snapped, rounding on him. "You think the words of someone who’s sick don’t carry weight? She’s not stupid. That girl remembers more than she lets on."

"Varen," Kiel spoke from near the window, arms crossed over his chest. "She’s been saying all sorts of strange things. Half the time she doesn’t know what’s real. You’re digging too deep."

I narrowed my eyes at them both. "You two are acting like you’re sure—like you’re one hundred percent convinced her parents were the ones who pushed her. But tell me this: did we see them do it? Did we catch them? Or did we just assume it?"

Thorne stood, face tightening. "They admitted their hatred. They had the motive. They practically confessed—"

"They said they hated her, yeah," I interrupted, voice low and sharp. "But they also said if it had been them, she wouldn’t be alive. They would’ve killed her outright. Do you remember that?"

Thorne flinched but didn’t answer.

"I do," I went on, voice rising. "And maybe they were telling the truth. Maybe they weren’t the ones who told her to go to the edge. Maybe someone else did. Someone she trusted."