Xander shut the door behind him, his movements slow, deliberate.
Aria backed up. She needed space to breathe.
"You knew?" she asked.
"I suspected," he said. "There's a difference."
"You let me believe she was dead."
"I didn't have proof."
"That didn't stop you from keeping it to yourself."
Xander ran a hand through his hair. He looked older, worn down by too many half-truths.
"I got a message," he said. "Months ago. Anonymous. It said, She's not where you buried her. That's it. No name. No follow-up. What was I supposed to do with that?"
"You were supposed to tell me."
He looked at her, and something flickered in his eyes—pain, maybe. Or regret.
"I didn't know how," he said. "And part of me didn't want to rip you open again."
Aria laughed, but it was hollow. "I've been open for a long time, Xander. Nothing left to rip."
They stood in silence.
He took a step closer. "You really believe she's alive?"
"I know she is."
"Then what do we do?"
Aria met his gaze, steel in her voice. "We find her. Or we burn this whole damn place down trying."