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Cass cornered her the next afternoon.
They were supposed to be laying low. Miles had gone out for supplies, and the apartment finally felt still. But Cass wasn't calm — not even close. He paced the length of the spare room like a caged animal, his hands balled into fists.
"What are you doing, Lara?" His voice was low, tight, simmering with something she rarely heard from him: anger.
Elara, seated cross-legged on the floor with the journal in her lap, blinked at him. "What do you mean?"
"You know exactly what I mean." He jabbed a finger at the journal. "You've been… planting things. Whispering things. Trying to turn me against Miles."
Her chest tightened. He knew. Maybe not everything — not about the fake note, not about the late-night trap — but enough.
"Cass," she said carefully, "I'm trying to protect us."
"By lying?" The word landed like a slap. "I saw the note you wrote. Don't bother denying it."
Elara's breath caught. Miles had told him. He must have.
"I—"
"Do you hear yourself?" Cass cut her off. His voice rose. "You're sneaking around, playing games, and for what? Because you don't like that I trust him? Because you never liked him?"
Her throat burned. "This isn't about liking him, Cass. It's about survival. He's not what you think he is."
Cass stopped pacing, turning on her with blazing eyes. "And what do you think he is? Some cartoon villain? A traitor hiding in plain sight? You sound crazy, Lara. You sound like you're seeing shadows everywhere."
Her hands shook against the journal cover. She wanted to scream the truth — I heard him on the phone, he's working with someone, he's already betrayed us — but something in her stopped cold.
Because if she said it now, Miles would deny it. He'd twist it. And Cass, blinded by loyalty, would choose him.
"Cass," she whispered, "I need you to trust me."
His laugh was sharp, bitter. "Trust you? When you don't trust anyone?"
Her chest ached. He wasn't wrong. She didn't trust easily. She couldn't afford to.
But the way he said it — like she was the problem, like her fear was the poison tearing them apart — made her want to crumble.
"Do you even hear yourself?" she shot back, her voice breaking. "You're nineteen and you act like you know everything, but you can't even see when someone's using you. He's playing you, Cass. Just like he's playing me."
"Enough!"
The word thundered out of him. Elara flinched.
Cass's face was pale, his jaw tight with fury. "You keep pushing this, Lara, and you're going to lose me. Do you get that? You're going to push me so far I won't believe a word you say."
The silence after was unbearable.
She swallowed hard, forcing herself not to cry. "Then maybe I already have."
His eyes flickered, wounded for a split second — then he turned and stormed out, the door slamming behind him.
Alone, Elara hugged the journal to her chest, fighting to steady her breathing. The room felt suffocating, her brother's words still echoing like gunfire.
You're going to lose me.
The truth was, she already felt like she had.
But worse than that — somewhere in the back of her mind, she could almost hear Miles laughing.
Because whether Cass meant to or not, he'd just proven Miles right: the wedge between them was cracking wide open.
And that fracture was exactly what their enemy needed.
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