The jewelry store wasn't what I expected. It's in a rich part of town, surrounded by other nicer stores. We're dressed nicely, so fit in perfectly. It's not that time El and I walked into Tiffany's wearing sweats (they were nice sweats) and t-shirts and the salesmen didn't even try to help us, knowing we wouldn't buy anything. This time, we came in and this middle-aged man in a suit smiled.

As we walk in, I begin counting the cameras. There's one in every corner. From what I've read online, a guy climbed on the roof and threw a gas grenade in the air vent, knocking out everyone inside. They had one minute to ransack the store before the alarm went off. The police got there five minutes after they were gone. Although they were wearing masks, they were able to identify the three men, but the guy on the roof was never discovered. Kal's theory is that Atlas is likely to have planned the mission and dropped the gas grenades.

I thought it was stupid. The whole car ride we were arguing about it. We've known each other for years and this isn't something he's capable of doing. Sure, no one god hurt, but it's a freakin' robbery!

Through the protective glass, I watch the tiny numbers displayed next to extravagant pieces of jewelry. The zeros extend beyond my imagination. I can't think of a good reason to explain why he would do this. Even if Atlas was involved, he has no reason to steal money. We never needed money anyway. We could afford a bigger apartment, but we liked living simply. It was cosy and easy to clean. All our belongings fit in there.

When our parents died, they left us a house and all their inheritance. Dad had lost his relationship with his family when he decided to marry an American—not to add, black—woman, and they wanted nothing to do with us. It's not a ton of money, but it's enough for us not to have to worry about things. El and I decided to keep our shares in the bank, untouched until we needed it. Her first thought was to spend it, of course, but I managed to convince her that we'll need it when we're older. El has gotten too used to the apartment life, having a small space to take naps in before getting out to the world again.

Kal walks up the first guy he sees, a tall man in a suit. He looks the friendliest of the three. There's a smile on Kal's face as he leans over the glass. "I'm shopping for a ring for my girlfriend," he says, whispering.

I pretend not to hear them, rolling my eyes as I walk through the store, secretly hiding the smile on my face. I'm trying to make it seem like we're buying something because I know what Kal says next will only sound suspicious. I'm not even into jewelry. The texture feels scratch against my skin. That's when I even remember to wear any. Sometimes I like to put on some of Mom's things, just to remember her. I end up putting it back eventually, not wanting to ruin it.

The salesman is called Will, and he whispers as he tells Kal about the man who's now serving jail time. "I've been working here for a year, so I'd just missed the robbery by three months, thank god," he says. "They rehired staff afterward, blaming them for it."

Atlas died eleven months ago, to be exact. This means that he'd only done this four months before his death. I would remember something suspicious happening. Those last four months were normal. We had a few arguments. Nothing out of the ordinary. He never came back home agitated. All day he'd spend working on his computer, writing review and articles for money. Other days he'd spend doing job interview. He'd come home from those realizing he screwed up but not knowing hot to fix it. He never comes home late. By seven, he's back at the apartment. Unless we decide to go out together.

Though I do remember him going out for several reasons, like to meet up with some friends from work—as he usually does—or to get some writing done. It's not unusual for one of us to want some private time in which we can write. The apartment is small, which is something we both love, but we also need some time to write. I only let Atlas come along when I needed his help in coming up with ideas or something.

It's hard to point out a certain point in time that he could've done this. Not that I think he did.

Will keeps talking, answering Kal's questions and more. I can see Kal grinning, excited by the gossip. "I've read all about it in the newspapers and heard about it from my manager. It was so well-planned."

"Your manager told you about it?"

"Only for training purposes. We lost more than a million dollar worth of jewelry," Will says. "People get inspired."

Kal walks on, as if he's trying to get away from the store as fast as possible. I rush behind him, trying to understand what happened.

"So?" I ask. "Did you get any new information?"

"I know where we can find him."

My eyebrows furrow. I place my hand on his arm, stopping him. "Where we can find who?"

"Brett."

I pause, thinking, then realize what he's trying to say. "Wait, you want us to—We can't go see him, Kal!"

"What other choice do we have?"

All at once, I stop walking. Kal sighs and turns around. "Maybe this isn't a good idea. It was just a letter."

"Don't you wanna know what happened to him?"

"I do know what happened. He died. He got in a car accident and now he's gone. That's all that happened," I say. "Nothing about this adds up. I would've known something was going on. Atlas was never away long enough to do something like this. He never came home looking guilty or anxious."

He sighs. I can tell he wants to say something else by his expression, something that'll piss me off. But he doesn't. "Luna, I know this must be very scary for you. Let's just see what Brett has to say. He'll either confirm or deny knowing Atlas, and then we'll figure out what to do," he says, his fingers grazing my cheek.

Of course I want to know what the letter is about. It's a prison, so there's no chance of something going wrong. But . . . How would talking to him help? What explanation can he possibly offer? Nothing I want to hear, obviously.

"Fine."

We ended up making several phone calls before confirming that he's still locked up. Kal decided to plan a few of the questions that we should ask him. This could go many different ways, but I'm glad to have a few more days to myself before I have to deal with any of this.

Kal called to ask to be added to the list of people who can visit Brett. They told me that they'd call him back later to confirm whether Brett wants to see us or not. I thought this was it. We wouldn't have to argue about it because Brett doesn't know who we are.

But that's not what happened.

For some reason, Brett agreed to meet us, thought we told him nothing about our purpose. We told them we were old friends and Brett didn't seem to disagree. After all, he doesn't get any visitors. No family or kids. At least that's what showed up online.

Kal managed to book a visit three days from now at nine in the morning. He wants time to prepare his questions. Even as we drive, he pauses to record some notes. Some are weird and some are smart.

I say nothing.

When I go home, I'm relieved that the day is over. It's been a long one. From finding the emails to going to the gallery and fighting with both Olive and Eleonora (and then making up with both Olive and Eleonora) and then kissing Kal and going to the jewelry store and now finding out that we'll be meeting Brett in prison. It's been a crazy couple of days and I can't wait to collapse only bed.

However, it's not done yet.

When I walk to the apartment door, I see Eleonora outside for me. She's sitting on the floor, playing on her phone. When she spots me, she stands up.

This is one of these moments where she complains about me refusing to give her a key. It would only make matters worse. I don't need her acting more like my mom than she already is. At the end of the hallway, Olive is standing there awkwardly, pretending not to hear anything. I can see that she's tried hard enough to keep her away, but it didn't work out for long. I give her a small smile to let her know that we're okay.

I turn to look at El.

The way Eleonora's leaning against the door, an angry expression on her face, tells me that I'm in trouble. "Why didn't you tell me that this is the same guy you invited to the party?" She crosses her arms as she always does whenever she's angry. "Wren saw him and put two and two together."

"I didn't invite him!" I say. "He just showed up. We talked one day and I needed his help in something, so he came to talk to me."

She furrows her eyebrows. "But how would he know about the party if you didn't ask him to come? How would he know where Wren lives and what time to come?"

I gulp. Now I'm stuck. There's no way I can tell El that he followed us without her freaking out. It sounds much worse when you didn't go through it. Where do I even start? She doesn't know about Atlas and the letter. I can't tell her where I'm going in a few days.

Behind us, Olive is biting her lip, looking anxious. She's trying to come up with an excuse, but El won't have it. She just stares straight at me, hurt and anger mixed in her expression.

"Let me open the door," I say, trying to move past her.

"I need you to talk to me, Luna," she yells, her voice is stern.

I look around to see if anyone heard that. Everyone here has gotten the idea that I've become crazy. None of them came to Atlas's funeral, but they did pay their condolences. The bachelor next to me comes home late and drunk and then apologizes for my loss repeatedly even a year later, as if I'm the one he should be pitying. The others see me walking out and ask how I'm doing. "I'm fine," I tell everyone. "It's been a year."

Eleven months is not a year, and I'm far from fine.

"I'll tell you the whole story. Just let me open the door."