She was still woozy from the painkillers Cece had given her—maybe she had misheard. People living together in a commune. Working for the “Movement.” Innocent lovers torn apart by events beyond their control. The death of one at the hand of the other. On some level, it sounded like a hippie version of Romeo and Juliet. With her father as the arch-villain. And yet she felt a tenuous connection to the story, as though questions she’d never articulated, but had been gnawing at her, were finally being addressed. If it was the truth. She forced herself to focus. She trusted numbers, not people. People lied. Shaded the truth for their own agendas. She didn’t know either Gantner or Cece. She had no reason to trust them. Especially if he was the one who killed her mother. If she wasn’t injured, she’d probably try to run away from them before he killed her, too. On the other hand, why would he have told her a preposterous sounding story if he wanted to do her harm?
