Briony abruptly pushes her chair back, the sharp scrape of wood against tile cutting through the room. Her gaze flicks away from me with a deliberate coldness, like I’m invisible. Without much preamble, she announces in a crisp, detached voice, "I’ll be in Alex’s room." The remark is directed at Isola, but it’s clearly intended for me to hear.

I don’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction. My eyes stay firmly away, refusing to acknowledge the hostility rolling off ...