Before I left my hotel, I sent David my real-time location and a screenshot of her text, because I am careful, and because I had stopped assuming the best of anyone connected to that family.

Chloe arrived twenty minutes early.

And she was not wearing the delicate white dresses or the fragile, helpless expression she wore whenever Logan was in the room.

She was in a dark trench coat, her jaw set hard.

The helpless version of Chloe, I understood, was a costume she put on for an audience of one.

This was the woman underneath it.