Chapter 3

Blythe's POV

I head straight to the campus medical center.

Standard procedure for an unnatural death: the bodies go to the morgue first, waiting on the medical examiner and the police.

But when I push through the morgue door, the room is empty.

"Where are the bodies?" I stop one of the on-duty staff.

He avoids my eyes. "Ms. Sinclair... Fletcher already had them transferred."

"Transferred where?"

"The crematorium." He shifts uncomfortably. "Fletcher said he was basically family, the fiancé of one of the deceased. He said the bodies were too badly burned to keep here without causing a panic, so they pushed through an expedited transfer. Administration approved it."

What a fiancé. What a fast track.

I let out a short, cold laugh.

Fletcher, you couldn't wait, could you. They haven't even determined cause of death. A medical examiner hasn't touched those bodies. And you're already trying to burn the evidence.

I don't waste another second. I drive straight to the crematorium.

I spot Fletcher the moment I walk in.

He's standing in front of the furnace, hands clasped behind his back, completely calm, like this is just another errand he's running. The staff are running pre-start checks. Kiley is tucked against his side, eyes still red, but underneath it there's something she can't quite hide. Satisfaction.

"Stop."

I push past the staff and plant myself in front of them.

"Fletcher, they haven't even figured out how these people died. You're about to destroy everything. Do you understand what you're doing right now?"

Fletcher frowns and holds up a hand for the staff to pause. He turns to face me, barely hiding his irritation.

"Blythe, relax." His voice is flat, like he's talking down a child throwing a fit. "Everything was handled properly. Every step was legitimate."

"Legitimate?" I stare at him. "No medical examiner has touched those bodies. You call that legitimate? This is obstruction of justice."

Fletcher pulls out his phone and holds the screen up to my face. "You might want to see what people are saying before you start throwing around words like that."

I grab it out of his hand and pull up the St. Julian's campus forum.

The pinned post at the top stops me cold.

SOUTH CAMPUS BIOME FIRE — THE TRUTH: Sinclair Women Tamper With Equipment, Pay the Price. Fletcher Does What Had to Be Done.

He posted it from the student body president's official account. A fabricated equipment log, claiming the victims forced a manual override on the temperature controls and caused the short circuit themselves.

Below it, Kiley's statement: I kept telling them not to touch anything, but they wouldn't listen. I just stepped outside to get help and the door locked behind me. I feel so guilty.

The comments are exactly what he wanted.

"Who do the Sinclairs think they are? Because your family's on the Board of Trustees you can just mess with whatever you want?"

"They got what they deserved. Almost took out the whole facility."

"Poor Kiley. She was being nice showing them around and Blythe just attacks her? Insane."

"Fletcher really needs to dump her already."

I throw the phone back at him.

He didn't just destroy evidence. He fabricated a whole other story, put the blame on two dead women, and got an entire campus to pile on people who can't defend themselves.

Fletcher, you really left yourself no way out.

I turn to the staff and keep my voice as steady as I can. "Do not start that furnace. These deaths haven't been cleared by a medical examiner. If you go through with this right now, that's on each one of you personally."

The staff exchange glances. Nobody moves.

Fletcher's expression hardens. He steps closer and drops his voice. "Blythe. All you're doing right now is making noise. The more you push this, the worse it gets for your family. Take the settlement, walk away, and this is done."

"Done." I look at him. "Two people are dead and you want me to just let it go?"

"They're gone." His voice has no warmth in it at all. "Nothing you do changes that. So what exactly are you trying to prove?"

He raises his hand and gives the staff a short nod. "Go ahead. Start it."

One of them hesitates, then reaches for the control panel.

"Wait."

It hits me all at once. I hear myself say it before I've even thought it through. "The people who died in there. It wasn't my mom and my sister. Fletcher, tell them to stop."

Fletcher stares at me for a second, then lets out a short, dismissive laugh.

"Blythe. Are you serious right now? Then who was it? Their names are on the intake form. You're gonna stand there and tell me it wasn't them?"

He shakes his head. "You need to stop. This is over."

He signals again.

The staff member presses the button. The furnace starts up, a low, heavy hum filling the room.

And then the door behind me slams open.

A voice cuts through. Clear, breathless, loud enough to fill the whole room:

"Blythe! I got the footage!"

The smile drops off Fletcher's face.