Nolan POV
The footage lived in my apartment like an uninvited ghost. No matter how many times I closed the tabs or switched to some mindless hockey replay, it clawed its way back.
Videos of juniper was everywhere.
Being Tristan’s twin meant the guilt had roots that went all the way down. We shared the same sharp jaw, the same build that made people do double-takes in grocery aisles. Same dark hair that fell across our foreheads when we were exhausted.
For most of our lives that similarity had been a private joke, a shield, a way to confuse coaches and girls alike. Now it felt like an accusation. If I had looked at Juniper even once—really looked—maybe she never would have fallen into his hands. Maybe she wouldn’t have been standing in that terminal sobbing while the world filmed her
