Kylie had rehearsed the walk a dozen times in her head; the route from the back entrance of St. Mary’s to the anonymous café three streets over felt like a line she was walking between two worlds. One world was warm with the terrible loyalty she’d been raised in — the one where her sister’s whim was a law and silence a currency. The other was cold with truth and consequence, and it had begun to feel, to her own astonishment, like the only place she could stand.
She had found the folder two nights ago, tucked under the false bottom of a desk drawer in Samantha’s apartment, a place she’d been told to clean and ignore the contents. Samantha had coached her to look like a dutiful sibling; she’d taught her tone, practiced the correct expressions when people asked if she was okay. But curiosity
