Ryder’s POV

I was a fool.

A stupid, privileged fool who sat back and watched the world rot around him because silence was easier. Because pretending not to know kept my hands clean.

But they were never clean.

Not when I saw the bruises on Liliana’s arms that day and said nothing. Not when she cried, shaking in the locker room, whispering something about Sienna and Holloway and the buses—and I told her to stop digging if she wanted peace.

And definitely not when she died.

Now I was sitting ...