The messages were short.
Ava: ‘Can you talk later?’
Lucas: ‘Yes.’
Ava: ‘Are you sure about this?’
Lucas: ‘I’m sure.’
I put the phone down, my hands cold.
“What if she’s using him?”
I called my sister from the garage.
“Renee, he’s talking to her. The girl. The one who started it.”
“Okay. And?”
“And he’s up until two in the morning on that laptop, and he hides the screen, and he won’t tell me anything.”
I built theories.