Chapter 22
Her Future Arrives Too Fast
Violet
The apartment is too quiet. Not peaceful.
Not calm. Just hollow in that way that makes every thought echo louder than it should.
I sit at the kitchen table, my coffee cold, and my hands wrapped around the mug like it might anchor me, while the police interview replays on a relentless loop behind my eyes.
The fluorescent lights.
The scrape of the chair.
The way the detective’s gaze sharpened every time he asked the same question with slightly different words.
Some witnesses say they saw someone matching your description.
Matching my description?
I wasn’t there. I didn’t go to the penthouse.
I didn’t leave the apartment that night.
Ella was on the couch beside me, half asleep, and scrolling through her phone.
I remember the exact show we watched. I remember the rain hitting the windows.
I remember everything—because I’ve replayed it a hundred times, trying to figure out how memory can matter so little once someone decides you fit the story they want.
Someone saw what they needed to see, and now I’m a suspect in a death I didn’t cause, tied to a drug I never handed over, while standing on ground that feels dangerously thin.
The front door slams open.
I flinch so hard my chair scrapes against the floor, heart jumping into my throat just as Ella barrels inside, all noise and motion and sixteen-year-old chaos. Her hair is windblown, her cheeks flushed, and her whole body vibrating with something bright and unstoppable.
“Vi!” she shouts, already kicking off her shoes. She waves a thick envelope in the air like it’s a victory flag. “You are not going to believe this.”
I blink at her, my brain lagging behind the moment. “What—what is it?”
She drops her backpack wherever it lands and practically launches herself at the table, shoving the envelope into my hands. “Langport. It’s Langport.”
My fingers fumble with the envelope, paper heavier than it should be. The logo is embossed at the top—clean, official, and real in a way that makes my chest tighten before I even open it.
“They’re offering a full scholarship,” she blurts. “A full one. And I got it. I got it, Vi.”
I slide the letter out, my eyes skimming before my brain can catch up.
Full Scholarship Award.
Tuition. Housing. Meals. Books. Transportation.
Everything.
“What… what does this mean?” My voice comes out thin, like I’m afraid the words might shatter something fragile.
“It means everything,” she says, breathless. “I don’t have to worry about money. Or loans. Or anything. It’s all covered.”
I stare at the page, at the numbers that don’t exist because someone else is paying them. “But—you didn’t even apply for this program.”
“I know!” She laughs, wild and disbelieving. “That’s the insane part. It’s brand new. They said they pulled candidates from early admission pools—students they already had their eye on. And they picked me.”
Pride swells in my chest so fast it almost hurts. Ella—brilliant, stubborn, and endlessly determined Ella—earned this. She deserves it.
And still.
Something cold coils under the relief.
She pulls out another packet, sliding it across the table. “They’re flying me out for an early admissions seminar. In two days.”
Two days.
The room tilts just slightly.
“They’re paying for the flight,” she continues, oblivious. “Hotel too. Sam’s coming—can you believe that? We’re going to room together for the seminar.”
I nod, my eyes catching on the itinerary. Departure times, dates, hotel info, campus housing details. Everything already arranged.
“What’s this part?” I ask, tapping the page.
“Oh.” She smiles, softer now. “They’re offering a bridge program. Spring and summer. It’s meant to get us ready for fall semester—classes, labs, all of it.” She hesitates, watching my face. “I’d live on campus. I would come home for winter break like normal. I promise.”
“That’s… amazing,” I say, because it’s what I’m supposed to say.
“And,” she adds quickly, like she knows exactly what I’m thinking, “I’ll call. Every day. You’ll probably get sick of me.”
I huff a quiet breath. “Unlikely.”
Her smile softens, turns almost reverent. “This is it, Vi. Langport. This is my way out.”
The words land deep. Heavy.
Her way out.
And maybe that’s the point.
If Ella is gone—if she’s safe, far away, and wrapped in ivy and privilege and opportunity—then whatever comes crashing down next won’t take her with it. No matter what happens to me, she’ll still have a future.
Relief flickers. Fear follows close behind.
“Vi?” she asks, finally noticing the tightness in my face. “You okay?”
I nod too quickly. “Yeah. I’m just—overwhelmed. This is huge.”
She beams and pulls me into a hug, all warmth, excitement, and trust. I hold her longer than I mean to, breathing her in like muscle memory.
“This is good,” she says softly. “Right?”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “It’s good.”
But as she pulls away, already talking about packing, schedules, and everything waiting for her on the other side of the country, the unease doesn’t fade.
Two days.
That’s all the distance between her and everything circling me now.
And if the world decides I’m guilty—if this story tightens instead of loosening—I don’t know what will be left of me when she comes back.
All I know is that she’s getting out, and I’m standing right where the fire is starting.