This time, when she meets my eyes, she doesn’t look away. “I’m sorry,” she repeats. “I’m sorry that I believed you killed her.”
I let loose a sigh I’ve been holding for far longer than I realized. I didn’t think I needed her to see the truth. Didn’t think it mattered to me.
“I don’t blame you, Jessa.”
She looks down and shakes her head. “Deep down, I knew you didn’t do it.”
“Because I felt like I couldn’t trust my instincts,” she says. “Which is still true enough. I can’t trust them. I thought Freya was my friend—right up until she popped her eyes out.”
I raise my brows. “Excuse me?”
“She wore dark contact lenses to try and disguise her bright blue eyes,” she says. “I remember thinking sometimes that it was like her eyes couldn’t decide what color they wanted to be, brown or blue. Sh
