Chapter 9

The city had that brittle, late-afternoon light that made everything look cinematic and fragile. From Nicole’s kitchen window, the skyline glittered like a tidy promise—glass and gold and the kind of optimism investors put stickers on. She stood at the counter, sleeves rolled, flour dusting the back of one hand where she’d been kneading dough. Baking was one of the few things that let her hands be honest when her mouth had to lie.

Camille padded in, hair in a messy knot, and ...