•

"Crash And Burn, Girl!"

It was icy. The end of november cold frosted the windows, but fell much warmer than the chill inside the Marin kitchen. Emily and Spencer barely spoke a word — to each other and in general. It affected everyone, from Aria trying to get a forlorn Hanna to eat upstairs to Halle who chose to do laundry rather than be in that awful, draining atmosphere.

Emily grunted in pain. A sharp shot of electric agony coursed up to her shoulder, causing her to suck in a gasp of air. She had only managed to put the oblong dish on the middle shelf, but it was as far as she could reach without it becoming excruciating.

Unhelpfully, from her spot at the sink, Spencer piped up, "I think that goes on the top shelf."

"Really?" Emily glanced back at Spencer to check, then returned her head forward. "Thanks for telling me that." Under her breath, she added in a sarcastically spiteful mutter, "This time."

"Here—" Spencer put aside the scrub-brush and left the sink to help. "Let me do it," she half-pleaded. "I'll do it." She rushed in, collecting the dish from out of Emily's grasp in her rubber-gloved hands, and placed up high on the top shelf. With concern bubbling at the surface of the chilly tension, Spencer asked, "How's your shoulder?"

"Obviously still hurts," Emily replied, grumbling. They crossed back over to the sink; Emily strained as she wiggled her shoulder about before she plucked up the dish-cloth again. "Halle wants me to go to her Coach Rhodes for extra physio, but physical therapy isn't really helping." Annoyed, she inserted after, "Neither is the tension."

"I know," apologised Spencer sincerely, as she scrubbed clean a fork. "I'm sorry—" Halle had come up from the basement, through the open door, with a full washing basket in her hands when she caught the end. "Toby just isn't ready to let you guys know what's going on yet." As Spencer continued, Halle stopped in the door, listening in. "I swear, we tried to follow Shana, but I just—"

"Can we stop talking about Shana for a minute?" pleaded Emily, fed up. Serious, with how their Monday night ended up with them rallying around their distressed friend, Emily claimed,  "We need to concentrate on Hanna."

"Yeah, you're right," Spencer said, deflating, eyes falling down on the wilting bubbles in the sink.

Sucking in a breath, Halle approached. She emerged from the basement and made certain that her presence was known. "Laundry's done," she announced, and put the basket down on the island. "Folded and smells like coconut."

"That's nice," said Emily, pressing her lips together in a forced and half-sincere smile.

"It's one less thing for Hanna to worry about," agreed Spencer.

Aria entered, eyes instantly landing on the pair by the sink. "Good," she stated, partly exasperated, "you two are talking." She sighed, clinking down the plate of food, "Now, if we could only get Hanna to eat."

"We could order those mozzarella sticks from The Brew," suggested Spencer, un-gloving her hands to set them on the counter behind, now facing out towards the kitchen. "She loves those," she said, gaze on Emily in hopes she would see that Spencer was listening.

Yet, Emily sighed and glumly dismissed it. "The Brew can't deliver the one thing she really wants." She spoke depressingly, "Her mom."

With her attention on the plate of cold food again, Aria commented as she hit ball with her fork, "This stuffing is getting rock hard."

"I said I'd cook," Halle reminded. "Something better than those frozen meals."

"Well, I didn't wanna use up their groceries," Aria partly sassed, a little smile passing between her and Halle because of the light gesture. "We can go the the store in the morning — try again later," she supposed, grabbing the plate once more to get rid of it.

Spencer rushed to take it. "No, don't throw it out," she said, and took it right out of Aria's grasp. "Maybe Hanna's dad will eat it when he gets back."

"Or—" Emily inhaled deeply, "we can use it to chisel Mrs Marin out of jail," she dryly said, moving to take a seat at the island, opposite to where Aria stood.

Aria replied, half-wittily, "I don't think that'll go over so well at her arraignment." Just as Spencer joined them, cling-film in her hands to cover the plate of food, Aria asked keenly, "What's going on that, anyway? Has Hanna said anything?"

"Not to me," Halle told her sadly. "I think I ruined that, she doesn't feel comfortable sharing anything to do with the case with me."

"Hey, you rightfully put up a boundary, Hanna's just following that," Spencer offered Halle reassuringly.

"Yeah, but when I put it up, Hanna's mom wasn't sat in a jail-cell," Halle countered. "It's different now."

"Not when they can still drag you into it," Spencer said.

"Well, Hanna's not saying much anyway," Emily told the group. "Only that her dad won't take her to any of the meetings with the legal team."

"Well, I'll see what I can find out," Spencer avowed to them. She finished neatly wrapping the plate then met their wary, tired faces. "Look, it's getting late," she began. "Why don't you three head home and I'll make sure that Hanna get something to eat before her dad gets back?" She gave a little sigh and jested very lightly, "It's time to bust out the big guns — cake frosting and a spoon."

Admittedly, it made Emily's lips curve up a little, but Aria was immediately off-put by the playful dismissal. She claimed strongly, "I'm good to stay."

"Me too," agreed Emily.

"Ditto," Halle voiced, nodding.

Emily said earnestly, "The only way we're getting Hanna Hanna through this is together."

With the forgiveness passed in the words Emily spoke, mainly for Spencer, a shift happened. The chill had ceased; warmed the four through. Aria was the first to act, reaching for Spencer's hand to hold, then Halle's to the left of her. Following suit, Emily did the same: she extended out her hand and held Spencer's own. Then, to complete their circle, Emily turned and smiled at Halle, who was already waiting with her palm up.

Their hands connected. Skin to skin. They fit easily together, fingers finding a home in their locked support. Emily glanced down at them admiring how it looked, how it felt. It was warm, comfortable, steady. Everything felt right while she held Halle's hand, like the world around them wasn't gradually falling apart, but at the same time, Emily had this awful, soul-crushing feeling it was wrong. This was her friend, Halle was her best friend. Emily had a girlfriend. Halle was still hung up on Jason. So, it didn't matter how calm and good it felt to be holding Halle's hand, Emily knew she couldn't hold it forever.

Besides, like Emily told Spencer: they needed to concentrate on Hanna. Not the niggling crush Emily felt she had developed since when — she didn't quite know.

•

"How is she?"

The question seemed to leave Halle's mouth hourly. While she had personally checked in on Hanna, which Hanna always responded to, Halle couldn't help but realise the friction still there. The distance was felt, and caused Halle to revert to asking about Hanna rather than reaching out as often.

"She's fine," Aria replied. "As fine as she can be." She shut the driver's door, her having given Halle a lift to school that morning, since Halle was still dealing with the punishments from her arrest, and looked across at Halle. "You know she's not angry with you, right? Hanna gets it," Aria assured.

"Yeah, but why do I feel so bad?" Halle asked, frowning. Her lips were almost in a pout. "Like, I never would've made it an issue if I thought for a second it was really the gun, and that Mrs M's prints were on the bullets."

Aria agreed, "Yeah, and Hanna knows that." The pair turned to walk across the street, to head towards the entrance, when they stopped. Their eyes widened, mouths falling slack.

"Who's car is that?" Halle asked.

Although she was stunned, Aria still managed to answer. "Connor's."

LIAR

The word was spray-painted black, spanning over both the driver's door and the one beside it. His car parked out front was entirely trashed. Every window, bar the windshield, had been smashed completely through and plastic sheets were duct-taped inside to act a faux-windows for now.

"Ha!" laughed Halle loudly. She broke into a massive, beaming grin. "Okay, now that's made my morning."

"Someone really took a bat to his car," Aria said in awe. "Oh, my god."

"The jerk deserves it," Halle reiterated, scooping Aria's arm under hers to link while they walked.

"You're not concerned? You called him a liar in the school paper," Aria reminded Halle of her 'Name to Shame' issue.

"No, and I stand by it," Halle boasted proudly. "I'm not responsible for how other students react."

Sucking in a sharp breath, Aria turned to Halle with a sheepish smile and asked, "Do you think he'll notice if I take a swing at it?"

"Hmm—" Halle inspected the car over and reasoned, "You could let down his tyres, don't think he'd notice that. Plus, no felony to prove."

"Wow, is that growth?" Aria laughed and joked, "Halle Brewster suggesting to let down the tyres, not slash them."

"My mom has put the wrath of God in me," Halle replied, with a playful roll of her eyes.  "Believe me, I'm aiming to survive senior year."

Aria chuckled, "Aren't we all?"

•

The board had gone up overnight. Post-it notes were added with each slither of new information; photographs were printed out and stuck to it; a timeline scrawled out on brown paper was pinned over a huge map of Rosewood and its surrounding counties. Caleb worked tirelessly at the screen of his laptop until his eyes were strained and ached.

"You sure that Spencer remembered that partial tail number right?" Caleb said, "I feel like I've been at this for days."

Toby hummed, "She can quote entire passages of Dostoevsky..." He looked up from his pad and added with a soft smile, "in two languages. Keep typing."

Toby's confidence in Spencer spurred Caleb on — to return to the Pennsylvania Flight Records Administration site and keep searching. Caleb asked him, "You really think that tracking down this plane is our best shot?"

"When I was working with Mona, she thought Red Coat was pulling the strings," Toby recalled. He eyed Caleb, voicing his agreement with Mona's thoughts. "Getting the girls to the lodge that night to burn the place down? That's definitely an A-move," he remarked.

Angling himself better on the desk chair, Caleb faced Toby to say, "Hanna thinks that Alison is still alive." He wanted to see Toby's reaction — watch if he mirrored the same apprehension he had over it.

"Yeah, Spencer saw her too," said Toby, his eyes cast down for a second. "Everyone else just saw a blonde in a red coat."

"Halle didn't say much about it," Caleb voiced that same concern he had, and it was the first time Toby wavered. "Have you spoken to her?"

"A little," Toby mentioned quietly. "She's scared she's the one who hurt Alison." He dismissed it, "But Alison was hit with a shovel, not a rock."

"Who's to say it didn't happen, too?" Caleb posed to him. "If Alison's alive, then maybe she did." He hated to speak it aloud, yet he had to get it off his chest. "Maybe Halle did hurt Alison and this is about punishing all the girls."

"Why would Red Coat do that?" Toby wondered.

"If Hanna's right, and it was Alison, then she's Red Coat," Caleb concluded.

"And Red Coat's in charge," Toby realised, following along.

"Exactly," said Caleb. "If Alison figured out one half of what happened to her was Halle, she wouldn't stop until she knew the other half."

"That's if you think one of the girls is capable of murder," Toby pointed out, causing Caleb to shake his head.

"I don't," he sighed. "But it's all we have to follow right now."

Toby clarified, "So, you think two blondes were hit That night?"

"It's the least confusing thing about what happened if Alison's not in that grave," explained Caleb with a half-shrug. He said, "Hanna's really convinced it was her."

"Spencer thinks that it too," Toby responded truthfully, "but she's questioning everything."

"What about you?" asked Caleb.

"Out cold," Toby answered, referring to the night of the Lodge fire. "For all I know, she's the one who clocked me."

Again, Caleb sighed, glancing away for a brief moment. He audibly expressed his confused frustration and said, "You know, what I don't get it how did Red Coat get from Thornhill all the way back to town to frame Hanna's mom?"

"When we find her, we'll ask," Toby told him, travelling over to put down the pad on the desk. "Switch?"

"Ah, gladly," Caleb wholeheartedly accepted the offer. He was already standing before Toby could duck backwards to allow Caleb out. When they had traded places — Caleb stood while Toby sat at the desk — the formed remembered something. "Oh, hey—" Caleb rooted through the masses of papers laid across the desk and collected up a specific file, "I was looking for a pen earlier, and I found this."

Toby froze up. His eyes locked onto the Radley emblem and he gulped.  He was faced with his own blue post-it and the pen he wrote.

DR PALMER SAYS MOM'S ALRIGHT
"AIR TOO HEAVY"
MOM WORN DOWN
AFRAID
ROOF
BLONDE GIRL

It was written separately to everything else, on a secondary yellow post-it as the bottom. Yet, it was enough to spark interest in Caleb to retrieve it from the drawer.

"Did you read that?" asked Toby, while his nervousness made his voice to shake.

"No." Caleb seemed to get a sense it was wrong to bring up. "I just..." He tried to explain his decision. "I thought... Red Coat is A, right? We're looking for a blonde?" he referred directly to the post-it note, which said that upon it.

"It's not this," denied Toby, as he grabbed it right out of Caleb's hands. Toby fell quiet, more subdued, as he tucked the file safely in the drawer again. He kept his eyes anywhere but on Caleb; Toby knew he was too hurt by seeing it out — that someone else held his secret — to meet Caleb's eye. "What we're after, it's, uh, something else," he said, and tried to train his attention to the laptop screen while his brain swam in the sad thoughts of his mother.

"Okay..." Caleb accepted it, still cautious by the deniability. Yet, instead of drawing more attention to it, Caleb moved on. "I'm starving," he announced, his hands shoved into his jean-pockets. "Do you, um, want anything from downstairs?"

"Yeah, I'll take a sandwich or something," said Toby, almost absently. His gaze had not moved from the screen, not even when there was a knock on the door.

Deciding it was on him to answer, Caleb said, "I'll get it." He crossed the small, cosy living area of Toby's apartment and opened the inside door, which led down the below coffee shop. There, on the top step was Halle, smiling as she held up a large brown bag and a drinks-tray.

"Hey, Stalker," she met quite happily.

With a smile of his own, Caleb replied, "Hey, Cheery."

Halle held up the bag. "Chili-cheesedogs and coffee? Part of my I-owe-you," she said, referring to their prior deal stuck yesterday.

"I love you," declared Caleb, practically beaming as he took the bag from her.

"I know," Halle said proudly. As she passed him by, entering the apartment, she added over her shoulder, "Love you too."

Shutting the door, Caleb called out to Toby, "No need to go downstairs, room service is right here." He showed him the bag and made his way to put it down on the coffee table.

"Hey—" Toby's surprise took over his greeting, "what are you doing here? Don't you have class?" he asked, as she came towards him.

"It's lunch and then I have study hall," she said, and handed him a hot coffee. She put on a delicate smile and inserted lowly, so Caleb couldn't hear over the rustling of the takeout's contents, "I thought we could talk about the RV."

"Oh," Toby's features fell. He cleared his throat, uncomfortable suddenly. "We can talk about that, sure."

"Talk about what?" questioned Caleb curiously, after catching onto the end of what the pair said.

Halle saw Toby beg through his pretty blue eyes and she let out a breath, nodding. She ceased to talk about her true motive for being there. "Talk about your murder board," Halle said, faking a smile as she faced her friend, easily masking for another.

"It's not exactly a murder board," Caleb explained.

"More of a mystery board," said Toby, choosing to stand near Halle, grateful for the lie.

"Meh, it's all the same here," remarked Halle. Her eyes admired the pinned up board, which took up space above the media console usually where a television would be. She raised her brows at the sheer amount of detail. "Wow, got ourselves a proper little detective team." She teased them, "Who's Sherlock and who's Watson?"

"Ha," laughed Caleb sarcastically. "Very funny."

"Not really," Halle muttered. She gestured at the brown paper timeline with a nod of her head. "Your timing's off."

"No," Toby refused to bend. Both him and Caleb were certain. "That's right," he said. "We've been over it."

"Yeah, but I didn't get to Hanna's until fifteen-after,"Halle stated. "We didn't get to the lodge until at least half eight." She sucked in a shaky breath then said, "There's also this." Putting down the drink, Halle reached into the handbag thrown over her shoulder, dangling at her hip, and pulled out a chunk of crinkled papers from the notebook. "The illegal crap Mona pulled on us."

Accepting it, Toby asked, "And the non-illegal?"

"States cops have it," Halle told him. "You guys needs as much of the picture as you can get — here are my pieces." She explained, "There's also Wilden's police file on the numbers who were texting me, all linked to that Vivian Darkbloom account."

"This is great, thanks," Caleb accepted it eagerly.

A chime from the computer brought Toby from her while Caleb sunk into the pages that Halle had given them. Toby hovered by the device, scrolling using the control pad, reading carefully. "Wait—" His eyes went bright, "we got a hit," he announced, and the two rushed over to inspect it themselves. "Same kind of plane as the one at Thornhill. The flight plans are private," Toby explained, with an edge of annoyance. "The address of record is at Howell Acres Flight Centre."

"Well, that's not far from here," mentioned Caleb, suggestion in his tone.

"I'll drive," said Toby immediately.

Halle declared, "We can eat on the way."

As both the males grabbed at their jackets, they looked over at her in mile shock. "You're coming?" Caleb asked her.

"I just bought you lunch," Halle returned incredulously. "Why wouldn't I?"

•

The car had caused more hot gossip. LIAR had been the worst of the stirring up the rumours. It was exactly what Halle had labelled Connor as in the school paper and the blame had fallen to those involved, justified by their peers. However, now, it had wrongfully gone to Aria's younger brother as Aria found out when she was confronted by Hackett, on the same staircase she wept on the day prior.

Mike had promised his sister that it wasn't him. So, it shocked Aria to find him outside the principal's offices that lunch.

"Mike?" she said in surprise, pitched upwards slightly. "Are you waiting to speak to Hackett? Is this about—?" Aria never got to finish her second question when she saw her father exit the reception.

"Dad's here," Mike piped up, his head gesturing up at the man from the bench he sat on.

Byron Montgomery wore his mouth in a thin, pressed line. He handed his keys, them jangling, to his son. "Go sit in the car, we'll talk on the way home," Byron said.

"Home?" asked Aria, even more confused, while Mike simply stood from the bench and headed off to the exit.

"Your brother has been sent home for the rest of the day," Byron told Aria. "I hope for his sake this is all just a huge misunderstanding." He sighed, "I got a phonecall off the school today, and one of his team-mates is filing a police report, and that kid's father is pressing to have him expelled."

Aria's jaw fell wide open. "Expelled?!"

"Yes," Byron confirmed. He sounded utterly baffled as he explained, "Over some kind of damage to a car?" Taking a more solid step towards Aria, Byron said, "It's that kid — Connor. The one that you tutored a few days ago."

"Two days ago, Dad," Aria said, small, eyes cast down at her favourite boots.

Her father hadn't picked up on that odd distinction. "Did you notice any tension between them? I mean, is it... Is there any truth to this?" he asked, and this time noticed how his daughter ducked her head further and refused to meet his eye. "Aria..." Byron dropped his voice, serious. "If you know something about this, I need you to tell me."

Instantly, she blurted out, "I think this is happening because of me." Looking up, Aria caught sight of her father's concerned stare and started to elaborate. "Connor kissed me, and I said that I wasn't interested, so he..." she took a pause, "... started this rumour at school."

Byron's brows drew close. "What kind of rumour?"

Aria felt her chest seize. Her neck and face became inflamed hotly with embarrassment. "The kind that's really not worth repeating... The kind that made Halle blast him for lying in the school paper," she confessed.

A graveness, sprouted from his protective nature, held his expression tightly. "Why didn't you come to me with this?"

"Because I thought I'd handled it," Aria implored. "I thought Halle'd handled it too." She told her father firmly, "I set Connor and his friends straight."

"What exactly did Halle do?" asked Byron carefully.

Mumbling, Aria raised her brows over wide eyes as she admitted, "She may have printed out his yearbook photo and called him a liar, and did the same to his friends with the texts they sent me."

"What texts?" he asked.

"Texts I'd rather you didn't see," Aria replied truthfully.

Still lost by it all, at how this was the root cause of it, Byron asked her, "Why would he say these things about you?"

For a few moments, Aria met him with awkward silence. Her lips were parted; the words she didn't know how to speak caught in her throat, dying several times over as she worked up the courage to say them. She exhaled deeply then began unwillingly, "Look, apparently, there's been some talk..." she kept her eyes locked onto his, "... about me and Ezra."

Byron Montgomery felt he had been sucker-punched in the gut. It came apparent, this year more than last, that the cursed name of Aria's teacher would haunt and ruin Aria's in this town. His ex-wife had been right.

"Well, I—I—guess that—" Aria started to choke out her words, trying to explain away her father's apprehension, "Connor figured that since I'd... dated an older guy that I would do just about anything—" her voice gave a small tremble, "with anybody."

As she spoke, Byron's breathing got shallower. He huffed out through his nose as he tried to recollect himself as he fought off his rage. His hands were situated on his hips; Aria thought, within reason, that it was directed at her.

"Dad," she sighed in defeat, having had a hundred bad conversations over Ezra with the man in front of her, "I know what you're gonna say..."

"No—" Byron shut that down and dropped his hands, "I'm not concerned with Ezra Fitz," he said truthfully, worried eyes firmly on her. "I am concerned with your brother and making sure that he hasn't gotten himself into trouble." Byron continued, more fatherly now, "And from the sound of it, this Connor-kid is the one who needs to be scrutinised and punished."

Blinking several times, taken aback by her dad's stoic attitude and darkened complexion, Aria asked, "What are you gonna do?"

"Well, I have a meeting with Principal Hackett this afternoon with Mike," Byron stated to her. "So, I need to speak with your brother about this before I go in there and turn this on its head." Then, he softened. "You should've told me, Aria."

"I didn't know how," Aria admitted. Her hand came up in defence. "And I had no idea any of this would happen."

"Well, it is," Byron replied regretfully. His mouth twitched up with a small smile. "I'll see you at home later."

"Yeah, of course," Aria said, stunned still by the abruptness of it all.

When her father had left, heading right out of the front of the building to get his answers, Aria carried that pit in her stomach all the way to the cafeteria. With the expectation she'd be last to lunch, she walked into the courtyard to find none of her friends at the table they frequented. Confusion stumped her. She furrowed her eyebrows and took a few steps back to peer inside the noisy cafeteria hall only to come up empty. Aria was late and first to lunch.

Halfway through her sandwich, as she picked at the crust, Aria was finally joined by a friend. She saw a depleted Spencer approach, her shoulders completely drooped, and Aria sat up fast. "Where the hell have you been? I've been sat on my own for, like fifteen minutes," freaked Aria. "Have you seen Halle or Emily?"

Spencer frowned and she flopped down in the seat opposite Aria. "I went to see Hanna," she said, her voice tiny.

"Oh," Aria's mouth parted; her freak-out had crumbled.

"I told what I overheard my parents saying," Spencer told her. "How bad it looks for Hanna's mom, how it might've been better if she had done it." Spencer shook her head. "I had to tell her that her mom could get twenty years if she's found guilty of first degree."

"But..." Aria didn't want to say it. The words died on her tongue and the food she had previously eaten turned in her stomach.

From one glance up from her dropped head, Spencer knew exactly where Aria's mind had gone. "You thought the same as me," said Spencer. "How it could be worse than life in prison."

Aria gulped and found the courage to say shaky, "Pennsylvania has the death penalty."

Spencer sucked in sharp, wobbly breath. "I wish I'd kept my mouth shut."

With her head fallen in a tilt, Aria offered, "Hanna knows it doesn't look good."

"Yeah, but I felt her heart break when I told her, Aria," Spencer whined. "It couldn't get any worse than that, having to tell her... that," she pointed out.

"The question is," Aria proposed warily, "can it get any worse? Hanna's mom, Emily's parents, my mom—" she listed them all, "Halle's mom is onto A now too so that's only gonna get worse for her or Halle, and now my brother?!"

"Why, what happened to Mike?" Spencer asked, startled into confusion.

"My dad got called in to see Hackett because of Connor," Aria said. "For the damage to his car."

Frozen, Spencer stopped moving. "You think A took a bat to Connor's car?"

"Please," Aria groaned, pleading her friend to catch up. "This has A spray-painted all over it. God, I thought it was Halle who A wanted to take down for her stunt with the paper, it didn't occur to me Hackett's prime suspect would be Mike."

"Where is Halle, anyway?" Spencer asked her. "I thought she'd be here with you."

"That's makes two of us," Aria quipped. "I think she skipped."

That only confused Spencer more. "Why would she skip? She has AP History after study hall," she stated.

"Well, she's not here—" Aria shrugged, "and she's not answered my messages asking where she is." Worry took hold of her instantly, "Do you think this stuff with Alison is getting to her?"

"What do you mean?" Spencer asked curiously.

"Look, like it or not, Halle's been on a rampage since junior year thinking she hurt Alison," Aria began, voicing that concern. Now, we think Alison might be—" Aria stopped. She dropped into a whisper, eyes shifting around to make sure nobody was listening. "We think there's a good chance Alison could be alive."

Spencer rolled her eyes, but spoke in a whisper still. "We don't know that," she said. "Plus, if Alison is alive, then that means Halle didn't hurt her."

"There's still a dead girl in Alison's grave, Spence," Aria stressed secretively. "Some girl was murdered, and Halle thinks she saw who did it."

"Yeah, with a rock," Spencer reiterated adamantly just like before. "Look, either way, the dead girl was hit with a shovel — we know that. And if Halle saw someone hit Alison, Alison would be in that grave and would've been hit with a shovel, too. Personally—" Spencer sat up straighter, "I think Halle imagined the whole thing because of the prank. It was a bad dream," Spencer said. "We all have them from That Night."

Aria craned her head back, surveying at her friend strangely from the admission. "I don't."

Then, before Aria got the opportunity to question Spencer on her bad dreams, Emily showed. She came hurtling towards them, a breathless and panic-stricken air about her as she rushed to their table. "Come on, guys," she said, hurrying them. "Let's go."

The sat pair looked at her with confused expressions, entirely lost at the sudden arrival and desperate plea Emily had given them. Voicing that bewilderment, Aria questioned it, "To your doctor's appointment? That's not till after school," she said. "Emily, it's just a shot, you'll be—"

While she spoke, Emily had hastily shoved all the rubbish onto the lunch tray, including Aria's half-eaten and severely picked at sandwich. "This is about who shot Wilden," Emily stated forcefully, which shocked them. "We still have time to find another murder suspect."

Immediately, Spencer brimmed with hope. "And maybe save Hanna's mom? Whatever it is, we're in."

"Good," Emily let out pant, then held up a key with a tag attached to it. "because we're breaking in to Wilden's apartment."

And just like that, the hope disintegrated from Aria. "Are you serious? Where did you get that?"

"I stole it from the station," Emily brashfully told them. "My mom is in charge of case admin, so as long as I get it back before anyone notices it gone..." Emily crossed a few feet away and chucked Aria's lunch in the bin, propping the tray on top of it. She returned to them, eyes wild with the idea. "Where's Halle? We need to go."

"She's not here— Wait, no, we need to think about this," argued Aria. "We can't just ditch school to break into a dead cop's apartment. People will notice we're missing."

"I've already signed you guys into the library for study hall," Emily hurried. "As long as we're back to sign ourselves out, we've got our alibi."

"Aria," Spencer turned to her best to plead, "we have to at least try." She begged her, "It's for Hanna."

•

It barely took an hour to get there. By time they had arrived at Howell Acres Flight Center, the food had long been devoured and washed down with their chosen coffees. They parked up as a loud engine cluttered to life down the runway, the propellers rattling and whooshing at it picked up speed. Halle never knew why, but planes had always stirred up anxiety in her. Being locked in a metal box, thousands of feet above solid ground, sent her body into haywire. She was forever grateful it was Aria who resembled Vivian Darkbloom so that it was her Duncan Albert, the Brookhaven resident who fell for Alison's charms That Summer, took up for a flying lesson.

When the three entered the reception, it was bright. All the walls were painted a crisp white, with only slithers of exposed brick peeking out behind the displays of aeroplane paraphernalia; several old fashioned aircrafts, styled from card, dangled from the ceiling above, twirling ever so slightly with every open and close of the door. As the friends approached the front desk, a customer passed them. Then, they were faced with a blond guy, his hair neatly combed over more to one side; and Halle got the startling niggle she recognised him.

"How can I help you guys?" he met politely enough. Below him, on the desk, sat his name plaque, 'Nigel Wright'. He noticed Halle in among the two males and smile. "And girl."

She rolled her eyes. Halle hated when men did that.

"Uh, yeah, we're all together," Caleb stepped in. He was the first at the desk, covering Halle with his shoulder as Toby came to stand on the other side of her. Caleb gestured to Toby and said, "My buddy here — yeah, uh, he got stiffed on a kitchen remodel, and the guy owns a plane. We think he keeps it here." With his easy lie, Caleb suggested, "Maybe you could help us see if he skipped town?"

"Anybody can look up a flight plan online," Nigel Wright told them. He asked, "Do you have the tail number?"

"We tried that and nothing came up," Toby admitted.

"Hmm." It hadn't stumped Nigel. He reasoned their failings away, "Must be enrolled in the blocked aircraft registry. Happens sometimes — celebrities, corporations."

"Private planes?" Halle questioned. If A had money — fifty-grand worth of Jason's money and more — it could be used to rent a plane for the night of the fire.

"Sometimes," Nigel answered her.

"But they still have to register a flight plan," stated Toby. "If his plane took off or landed here, you'd have it on file, right?"

"Usually," said Nigel.

With her lips pulled up slightly, Halle wondered, "Unusually?"

"It's rare," Nigel replied, his smile for her and only her.

"Well, um..." Caleb manoeuvred his hand into his pocket and brought out a few folded up bills, sliding it discreetly across the desk's surface. "Think you could help us out?"

Nigel Wright took the money, no hesitation. Cautiously, he retrieved it and put it in his own pocket. Then, he chose to accept the paper with number on from Caleb also. As he acknowledged the number, he typed it in to the system. When he got a hit, Nigel handed back the paper and rotated the screen around to show the three at the desk. All four of them looked closer, inspecting the details.

PFRA FLIGHT PLAN
TYPE: IFP
AIRCRAFT IDENT: n435MK
AIRCRAFT TYPE/SPECIAL EQUIPMENT: C172
TRUE AIRSPEED (KTS): 124
DEPARTURE POINT: HAAF
DEPARTURE TIME: PROPOSED - 19:15Z,
ACTUAL -
CRUISING ALTITUDE: 12,000 FEET
ROUTE OF FLIGHT: HAA - BWI - DCA - DE
DESTINATION: DE04
EST TIME ENROUTE: 00HOURS 48MINUTES
PILOT NAME, ADDRESS, TELEPHONE NUMBER & AIRCRAFT BASE: JOHN SMITH, HOWELL AIRFIELD, HOME AIRPORT 18358

"The last time the plan left this airfield was the night of the fire," Caleb concluded from the wealth of information on the screen.

"And it took off from here." Halle said, "It didn't land here."

"Uh, where's that destination code?" asked Toby, pointing out the 'DE04' on the record.

"Looks like a regional airport in Delaware," Nigel surmised.

"It's nowhere near Thornhill," muttered Caleb, as he grew annoyed at the lack of climax to this trip. It started to look pointless and it was the one solid lead they had from that night.

Toby added to it, "No passengers, pilot's name is John Smith."

"Sure it is," scoffed Caleb sardonically, "and I'm Pocahontas."

"Nigel—" Halle began. She batted her lashes at him, alternating between full bright eyes to sultry half lidded ones while she put on her sweetest, most charming smile. "So, uh, let's say that this plane maybe wanted to stop somewhere else."

"Like Thornhill," Nigel remarked, matching her smile.

It delighted her that he picked up on it. "Oh, you're a smart one, ain't you?" Halle complimented, tracking her index finger around the surface of the desk in slow circles.

Catching on, Caleb shrugged and coolly went along with it. "Yeah, let's just suppose."

Nigel reluctantly tracked his eyes from Halle to Caleb, to the left of her. "They'd inform airline traffic control," he said. "Or not. Depends," he disclosed, full of hints. "This guy may not want people knowing where he went."

"'Cos he's sneaky," Halle finished, and his eyes went right to her.

Offering, Nigel said, "Some guys are like that."

"I know," Halle said with a sigh. She stood up straight. "I've dated a couple."

"That's a shame." Nigel let his eyes travel up and down her, checking Halle out in front of others brazenly. "You seem like such a nice girl."

The blatant flirting caused Toby to groan, his head falling slack as he stared up at his ceiling willing it to be over, while Caleb rolled his eyes at how pathetic guys were when it came to Halle flirting; he had seen it quite a few times now and each time got more excruciating for him. The pair knew what she was doing, although it made them uncomfortable to witness; it was like watching their sister flirt.

"I am a nice girl—" Halle lit up at that, "so you'd think bad things wouldn't happen to me, right?" She sighed blissfully, smiling directly up at him. "Nigel," Halle said, "do you happen to have a photograph of this plane on your system? You know for insurance reasons?"

Always returning her smile, Nigel claimed, "I can look."

"Would you? What an angel," Halle praised.

Eagerly, Nigel Wright turned back to the screen and started to type. He loaded up another page of records on their system. He stated, "It's a company plane by the looks of it," and span the computer around once more to show them.

Displayed for them was a photograph of a plane, very similar to the one Spencer recalled was used the night of fire. On its side, a giant curved 'C' with the centre cut out so it was just the light blue outline of the letter was painted upon the pilot's door. Halle looked closer, eyes scanning the form next to the image.

"The Carissimi Group," she hummed quietly.

With his brows raised, Caleb asked, "You heard of them?"

Halle shook her head. "No."

"We got nothin'," Toby said lowly to Halle and Caleb, frustrated. "Different flight plan, no girl on board."

"Ah—" Nigel smirked as he connected the dots, "so it's not about a kitchen — it's about a girl." With a short inhale, he told them, "To be honest, there was a lot of fog that night, and Thornhill's barely a landing strip. It would've been really hard to land there under those conditions in the dark." He shrugged and said, "Sorry."

"All right," Caleb didn't want accept the dead end but did so politely. "Well, thank you for the information."

"Hope you find your girl," Nigel Wriggt wished with a smile.

As Toby felt his mouth twitch up, Halle responded with half-smirk of her own, "So do we."

The three headed towards the door. Caleb opened it for them, allowing Halle the space she needed to exit first. He went after and held the door for Toby. "God, Jason really stood no chance against you," Caleb jested as he referred to Halle's show of flirting.

"What can I say?" Halle sorted out her leather jacket and smugly smiled. Boldly, she claimed on the way back to the truck, "I got game."

•

13 Unread Messages
8 Missed Calls

Halle sighed at her phone screen. It overwhelmed her to see them all. She didn't know how to even begin answering them. There was just this pit of dread within her stomach weighing her down, churned up further as the counter kept climbing up. She shouldn't have asked for extra jalapenos on her chili-cheesedog like normal; the acid in her throat wasn't thanking her for it.

They coasted down the highway. Toby drove with his arm rested on the ledge of the window of his truck while Caleb typed furiously at the keys of his laptop; Halle was wedged in the middle of the truck's bench, one leg up as she clutched it closer to her for comfort. Every so often, Toby would clip the cap of the lighter he messed with, and it drove Halle mad each time.

"They call again?" asked Toby. His eyes peered down at her screen then went to the road as he focused on driving.

"I think they're doing something stupid," Halle mentioned.

"That could be anything," Toby replied with a edge of humour.

Click.

Halle grimaced at the lighter. She hated how loud the catch was — how aggressive Toby was being with an item styled from gold. "Yeah, but I get this sick feeling when they do and I'm not there," Halle explained to him coolly. "It's, like, I don't wanna do the stupid thing but I'm missing out if I'm not there."

"That's oddly confusing," Toby said. Click, he opened the lighter up. He glanced at his side and flashed Halle a smile. "Makes total sense." Click, he clipped it closed with a louder catch this time.

"Okay—!" Halle leant across him and snatched the lighter right out of his hand. "Enough, you're stressing me out," she said, huffing in annoyance. She sat back in her seat. "Didn't even know your smoked."

"I don't," Toby grumbled.

This caught the attention of Caleb. His focused stare was finally brought up from the screen to face the two next to him, mainly Toby. "Is something bugging you?"

Toby sighed heavily, wanting to get something off his chest. "The fog," he stated, clearly agitated by that simply comment Nigel Wright had made. The road zipped past them as he asked, "How'd he know it was foggy that night?"

Stumped, Caleb tried to find reason, "Maybe 'cos he's landed there before?"

It sparked Halle's brain alive. "But that specific night?" she questioned, siding with the boy on her left. "How many times do you remember what the weather was like just by a date?"

"You know—" Caleb seemed to want to pick apart all they learnt too, "and the pilot, that John Smith... " He waited for them both to nod before he said, "name never led anywhere either."

"It wouldn't," Halle muttered. "Disney and Doctor Who screwed that up."

Smiling a little at her nerd-side shining through, Caleb carried on with what he's learnt since they left the flight centre. He told them, "I tried to chase down the owner of the plane, but it's in a trust."

"The Carissimi Group trust?" Halle recalled, and Caleb let a sigh of confirmation.

"It's a investment firm in Philly," Caleb revealed. "It's a bunch of yellow tape if you ask me." He looked at the screen and rattled off, "no real information, no contact number, nothing on the owner or CEO — it's a void of nothingness. Their whole website just leads you in circles," he said. "Someone's blowing a lot of smoke."

"Is it a real website?" asked Halle.

"Oh, it's real," Caleb told her. "Just a mask to hide what they're really doing." He shrugged it off and said, "It's probably a tax-haven for all their investments."

The mention of smoke had triggered something in Toby. His eyes shot down to the lighter in Halle's grasp. "Hey—" he nudged her slightly, "what do you make of that?" he asked, nodding towards the item.

Holding up for both herself and Caleb to see, the pair inspected it over. It was solid gold by the looks of it with black printing on one side — a compass in the middle of it.

"Uh—" Caleb, with drawn together brows, said, "the 'NW' is bigger... Northwest?" he guessed, unsure.

"Huh," hummed Halle.

"What?" Toby asked briskly, keen for the answer.

"It's weird," Halle spoke. She shook her head and disclosed, "My nana had this thing with lighters and they usually only make the letters bigger if it means something." She supposed, "If northwest is home then—"

Caleb's expression darkened as his eyes lit up with a connection. "Or Nigel Wright."

It was the exact reassurance Toby craved them both to agree to. He inserted, "And with the compass, I kept thinking sailor because of Wilden and his boat."

"But it could mean pilot," Caleb concluded, impressed by the link. He thought it was an excellent lead — something to grip onto, so he asked, "Where did you get this?"

"I found it at the lodge that night," Toby answered.

"You found it?" Halle questioned, eyes still scanning the markings.

"The person who hit me over the head dropped it," said Toby. He guessed, "They wanted me to have it."

"Or they wanted you to take the fall," suggested Halle, more gravely.

Toby nodded with a pressed smile; he thought the same. "I figured whoever started the fire probably used that, but I couldn't do much else with it." His hand lifted and tapped the wheel while he talked. "We were all there," he explained. "If I would have turned it over to the cops, there'd be questions." His brows raised. "Lots."

"So, you think he started the fire?" Caleb asked, his stare firmly on Toby's profile as he waited for an answer.

"Well—" Toby grimaced a smile, "like you said, somebody's blowing a lot of smoke." he remarked, "I'm guessing it's our buddy Nigel, and he's got something to do with the Carissimi Group."

This time, after they had turned the truck around and driven straight back to Howell Flight Center, Nigel Wright wasn't so forthcoming nor was he helpful. Flicking the cap of the lighter, the flame sparking up with a firm swipe of his thumb, Toby glared straight at him. "Did you lose something?"

Gulping, a nervous Nigel denied, "I don't smoke."

Toby still held it aflame. He shrugged and said. "A lighter might come in handy for other things." He watched as Nigel began to sweat, his face red and flustered, but his mouth was locked tight.

"Wow, he was such a chatterbox earlier," Caleb sarcastically admired. His voice dropped through his gritted teeth, "I wonder what happened."

The pent up energy was trapped inside Nigel's body. He shook, anxious for the next move. Yet, he was the one who made it. Nigel broke towards the back, to escape through the rear exit. However, anticipating it, Caleb swiftly hopped over small, swinging gate beside the desk. He blocked Nigel mid-flee while Toby followed him around, cutting off that exit as well.

"Guys—" Nigel spread out his hands, desperate to put space between him as the two opposing frames, "listen."

"Oh, you want us to listen?" Halle wryly mocked. "That's funny," she said with an edge of humour to her tone, as she crossed into the space behind the desk. "Seems to me you wanted to run, not talk."

"I'll talk," panicked Nigel frantically. "I—I'll talk— we're talking."

"Okay," Halle acknowledged. She hopped onto the desk, sliding back comfortably, and collected up the lighter Toby had left on the surface. "Go ahead, boys."

Instantly, in a flash, Toby accused, "You're the pilot, right? John Smith?"

"Yeah—" Caleb raised his chin and puffed out his chest, "you filed that flight plan to Delaware as a cover, landed at Thornhill in the fog—" he made certain to stress, "delivered a blonde girl in a red coat, and then you flew her out of there."

Freaked out, Nigel whipped his head side to side, back and forth, either trying to look for the best place to flee or figure out who was in charge. Yet, he couldn't answer it.

"Who is she, Nigel?" persisted Toby.

Nigel's shoulders shot up as he defended, "I don't know anything about a fire — I wasn't there!"

"You just give your property away to anyone, huh?" Halle asked, flicking the cap of the lighter at him. It wasn't a wonder why Nigel Wright couldn't solve the question of who was in charge out of the two brute forces he was lodged between; Halle was out of harm's way, perched on the desk like it was a throne. She clicked the lighter so that a flame appeared, then reached forward and dangled it right over the trash-can. "And I thought you liked me, Nigel." She pouted as she teased him cruelly, "Didn't we have a connection?"

Seeing the sweat drip from his forehead, a stormy look crossed Toby's expression. "Answer the lady or I tell her to drop it."

Extensively panicking, Nigel's wide eyes kept darting around the room only to land on the trash-can. "Okay— okay," he surrendered. "Just...I got paid to fake a flight plan." It seemed harmless enough, but the three didn't budge. "Okay? And spin a little story if someone came asking." His eyes shot around, pleading with whoever he could make eye-contact with. "That'll all."

Sardonically, Halle chided back, "Oh, that's all."

"By who?" Caleb demanded.

"Was it her?" Toby pressed. "The blonde?"

Trembling, Nigel fidgeted within his pocket and pulled out a wallet. "I'll give you your money back, okay?" The leather flapped about in his nervous hands. "I just got greedy—"

"We're gonna need a name," Caleb pushed. His brows quirked towards Halle and added, "She's gonna need a name."

Halle's lips dripped with her false smile. "Now, or I'll burn the place down."

"I could lose my job!" Nigel raised his voice, it shrill as he pleaded with her. "I broke the law!"

"Then you could lose more than your job," Halle returned smartly. "You're gonna end up in prison, buddy."

Nigel was torn. "Just..." His face was pained like they were torturing the truth out of him — like they twisted and churned him out. "Her name was..." Nigel really struggled to think — to recall back. "I don't know — Drake," he said, and Caleb's shot to Halle's in recollection. The three of them had an answer they were used to hearing. "CeCe, I think." He flung his hand out at a still-processing Toby. "Just take the money and drop it, all right?"

A beat passed, then Nigel decided to launch the money at Toby. He darted forward and shoved Toby. Nigel had pushed Caleb too, straight into the metal cabinet, sending him back as he made makes a dirty break for the exit. As Toby staggered into action, ready to burst into a sprint, Nigel flung down another larger, taller cabinet and blocked them from following as he then fled the scene.

The crashing bang caused Halle to shout out," Let him go!" at Toby. Her voice spiked up in loud worry, terrified of him getting hurt like Caleb had. "Leave it," she said, climbing down from the desk. She went to Caleb, helping him with a gentle hand to his throbbing back. "It's not worth it."

Caleb let out a series of heavy pants. He tried to calm himself down from the stinging he felt shooting up his spine and leant on Halle for support. He sighed and looked up at Toby, who clearly still wanted to chase Nigel Wright down. "That guy was never gonna tell us the whole story anyway," he said. He sucked in a sharp breath, managed to straighten up a tad and lift the corners of his mouth up. "But maybe this will," Caleb finished and raised his hand to reveal he had stolen a mobile.

•

"So, you broke into his apartment?"

It was such a stupid thing that Halle felt her brain start to melt. Whereas earlier, she had told Toby she felt like she was missing out on doing the irrational, dumb thing she thought — and knew — her friends were most likely doing, Halle was now more than glad she didn't have to add another break-in to her wrap-sheet of crimes.

"It was for Hanna," Spender said indignantly. Her arms were folded over her chest as they spoke in the kitchen of Toby's cosy apartment. Toby and Caleb were huddled over the latter's laptop while they waited for the programme Caleb coded to hack Nigel Wright's phone.

"Oh, yeah?" Halle wore a tight, sarcastic smile as she challenged, "And what did you find out, Scooby-Doo? Is Mrs Marin still in a cell or did you solve the case?"

"Okay, I'd appreciate a little less of that," Spencer told her, which only caused Halle to deadpan and continued. Huffing, Spencer caved, "It was practically pointless."

"Told you," chided Halle.

"You weren't there, you didn't tell us anything," Spencer rebutted.

"Well, I would've told you if I'd known," Halle said back. "I told you before, the state cops have everything in evidence. Exhibit one-hundred-and-fifteen, they said. They're not messing, Spence, they're a lot more serious that Rosewood PD."

"Yeah, well, they didn't find this," she said and took out her phone to load up a photograph. It was of an A-message written on a small piece of card, the corner wept with blood from the meat-box in the background.

CAN'T WAIT TO SEE YOU
AT OUR LITTLE BARBECUE!
KISSES,
-- A

"Wait—" Halle's eyes flashed up, "we're saying Wilden was at the Lodge that night?"

"I don't know, this seems to imply he was," Spencer said. "But Melissa never mentioned he was and given his time of death, I'm inclined to actually believe he wasn't." Yet, Spencer held out. "But this—" she held up the message, "says otherwise."

"If Melissa says Jenna and Shana were there, and they were in of Melissa and Wilden's plan to unmask A," Halle led, "then surely the two of them would be there too, right?"

"Melissa wasn't at the lodge," Spencer flatly told her.

"You think Melissa is telling the truth?" Halle asked.

"I have to believe she is," Spencer observed. "She's my sister, she says it's been about protecting me."

"Spencer, Melissa was married to a guy she knew had a relationship with Alison, when she was fifteen," Halle reminded her seriously. "She was having a baby with him and he tried to push you off the bell tower."

Spencer attempted to dismiss that. "She didn't know about that."

"After," Halle stated. "Melissa still chose Ian."

Spencer was reminded of her time at Radley. She thought on the mantra that got her through it. How in the darkness of Spencer's shut lids, she had chanted in her mind: a nice cosy house, parents on couch watching television, older brother, sisters — one younger, one the same age — a family dog, a family. She looked at Halle with sunken, sorrowful eyes. Spencer wanted to tell Halle — tell her that it was the safety Halle's family had given her that got her through the worst of her mind's dark tricks. Spencer went to open her mouth to speak, but the words never came out.

"Okay—" Caleb's voice broke up their kitchen conversation, "we're through his password."

The girls were put on pause. They left the kitchen and crossed into the living room, joining the boys at the desk. Several windows were open on the screen; the green writing of the transfering data logged everything Nigel Wright had done for the last week and a half.

"Is that him?" Spencer asked. She referred to a seperate window in the top corner of the screen; it was from the Howell Flight Center's employee page and a photograph of the blond with his neatly combed hair was displayed proudly.

"Yeah, that's him," Halle confirmed.

Spencer shook her head, brow furrowed.

Her boyfriend picked up on it. "What?" Toby asked.

"He looks familiar," Spencer said, mulling Nigel's staff image over; she never forgot a face.

"He looks like every white dude on the West Coast, I don't know what you mean," Caleb remarked, causing Halle to chuckle. "Besides, here's the real information," he said, as a new window popped up to reveal the call history.

In awe, Spencer spoke, "Look at all those calls to the same number — in New York," she added, as she didn't forget a single prefix either.

Following her suspicions, Toby's finger pointed at the time on the screen. "And look at the last one," he urged. "That was right after we left the airfield."

"The first time," Halle muttered sourly.

Caleb looked to Halle inquisitively. "Didn't Wilden said the A-bank account linked to you guys went to an address in New York?"

"Yeah," said Halle with a curt nod.

Questioning it further, Spencer rose as she said, "Do you think that is where CeCe Drake went when she left town?"

"All I know is that CeCe is a liar," Halle said, sighing, exasperated by the muddled set of clues she had. "But she left in hurry. She wasn't scared, she was freaked."

"Because of Wilden?" Spencer asked her.

"Because I found her — red coat handed," Halle quipped. "I don't this has got anything to do with Wilden," she then admitted honestly. Halle rolled her eyes and self-corrected, "I mean, apart from him body being stuffed in his trunk and Hanna's mom getting the blame." She shrugged and said, "I believed him when he said it was CeCe he was hooking up with That Summer, not Alison."

"Which fits with what Melissa said to me at the dock," Spencer replied, and Halle knew already that Spencer believed her sister, so Halle was inclined to trust Spencer was on her side with this also.

"So, our lead is this number is New York," Halle stated for them.

"We have the address from your stuff, too," Toby remembered. He asked Caleb, "Can you see if this number has been in the area the apartment's in?"

"I can get into it and see what I can find out," Caleb accepted. "I can triangulate the calls, see which towers the signal bounces off." He questioned them, "But why would CeCe wanna ruin Ashley Marin? Or hurt Hanna?"

"Or the rest of you for that matter," Toby considered.

From memory, imprinted there, Halle shared, "Jason always said Alison was just playing games until CeCe came along and helped her take them to the next level."

"Alison was insufferable That Summer, she was hanging out with CeCe when she wasn't with us," Spencer reasoned.

"Yeah, but Alison had always been like that," responded Toby.

"Alison was something special that's for sure," Caleb half-snarked, "but she was fifteen." He said, "I get Byron Montgomery, but Wilden? Alison — at fifteen — blackmailing him?"

"You think CeCe was in on it?" Spencer's eyebrows lifted high as she asked, "She was the mastermind?"

"I don't know," said Caleb. "I'm not exactly comfortable guessing either, I'd rather deal with the facts," he mentioned, as he returned to typing at his laptop keys.

"You and me both," Spencer uttered, a dry chuckle escaping her afterwards.

"Could CeCe have helped Wilden set that fire?" wondered Toby curiously. "Or was Wilden helping her? Hanna heard two voices, right?"

"Yeah, but convinced one of them's Alison," Halle countered. "That rules of the other voice being Wilden."

"But if it was CeCe...?" Toby leaned into the what-if. "Could she and Wilden be working together?"

"CeCe started the rumour Wilden got Ali pregnant, there's no way he would've helped her," Spencer refuted. She theorized greatly, "So maybe the truth is that she set the fire, she killed Wilden, and this set-up is her covering her own tracks." Her eyes were large with bright determination. "The A-message at his apartment is fake, to lead us down the wrong hole."

Halle breathed in deep. "That's why the cops don't have it."

"It was planted after the police search," Spencer stated firmly.

Impressed by the huge leap they were making, Toby posed the most important question, "Can you think of a reason to believe CeCe's not A?"

"Uh," Caleb chimed in, eyes still locked on his screen. "I might not have an answer for that, but I have something else." He glanced up to see the three had grown closer searching for his discovery. "You know how the plane in that trust, the Carissimi Group?" he said. "Well, I ran their website through another programme, scanning for any key words that might overlap with us — we have one."

"Which one?" Halle asked.

"Radley," Caleb revealed, and the air was sucked out of the room. Eyes grew large at the breakthrough; Halle even drifted closer, almost perched on Caleb's lap as he explained, "It's under their investments."

"So," Halle did her very best to piece it together, "the Carissimi plane used fly from Howell Flight Center, landed at Thornhill, and Nigel was paid off by CeCe to fake a flight plane." The vertical crease between her brows appeared. "Right, so how does Radley fit into it, with CeCe?"

Lowly, Spencer shifted to sheepishly look at her boyfriend. "Toby," he voice was gentle, "CeCe visited Mona when she was in Radley."

While it was just another connection to be drawn — to be added to the picture of A's motives — it had hit Toby differently. He let out a wounded breath, his face suddenly sullen, and Halle hadn't picked up on it. "Makes sense with when Mona said the diaries started showing up for the second time," Halle reminded.

"Uh—" Toby's voice shook. It caused Halle to glance up from the screen, directly at the boy. "Can you guys give us a minute?" he asked kindly. It was only then Halle seemed to note that Spencer had addressed the meek revelation of CeCe visiting Mona at Radley to Toby and not to the three of them.

Caleb hadn't.

"Yeah—" Caleb broke into a large smirk and seemed to think it was a couple-thing as he joked, "just don't start making out or anything."

And Spencer had laughed, as if to defer Halle's suspicions. "Believe me, I missed him while you three were playing Halle and the Boyfriend's Club," she jested with him, as she followed Toby out, "but now is not the time," she said, and the two were completely out of sight.

While Halle's eyes travelled with the two, Spencer having not succeeded in distracting her with that little joke, Caleb had moved on. He wanted to talk to Halle, anyway; and Caleb mentioned the most person to capture Halle's attention entirely.

"Hanna said you've checked in the least," he said, and Halle's curious stare snapped from the couple in the kitchen to the boy with the laptop. Caleb wondered, "Is that why you spent the day playing detective with us and not the girls?"

"I don't think my mom would appreciate me adding breaking-and-entering to my felonies, it was safer to go with you," Halle remarked wittly.

"You didn't know about Wilden's apartment, you came before all that," Caleb pointed out, ignoring her deflection. "She told me, you know — I know you and Hanna argued."

"Then you know why we argued," Halle guessed, and Caleb nodded.

"Yeah, but I also know that it ended alright for you guys," he replied. "So why are you shutting Hanna out now?"

With a half-hearted shrug, Halle fought the urge to cry. "I don't know," she said, although she did and would go on to explain. "I just feel really bad. Like, the night I had Hanna — the night I called her out her white privilege — her mom got arrested. And when Aria called me to tell me that..." Halle felt a wave of lightheadedness at across her temples and her stomach lurched. "I felt like I couldn't be there for Hanna 'cos I just ruined part of our friendship by setting my boundary."

"Hanna would do anything for you," Caleb told Halle, even though the girl already knew it was true. "She gets that boundary, or she's trying to. And right now, I think she really needs her friend to tell it's gonna be okay."

"How do I do that?" Halle asked helplessly. "Every text feels like a slap to that 'cos I wanna be there for her, but I told her I couldn't."

"Do you regret telling her that boundary?" Caleb asked her.

Halle shook her head. "No." She said, "I needed to do it."

"Okay, well, you're not getting charged; neither is Hanna," Caleb made sure to point out. "So, that boundary doesn't really count now when it comes to you wanting to be there for Hanna and Hanna wanting that too." Sadly, Caleb exhaled, "I'm worried about her, I know you are too." He suggested, "You should go see her, I think the two of you need it."

•

Halle knew Caleb was right, but that hadn't stopped her stomach from hurting. It only seemed to get worse, more painful with every step up the path between the two patches of lawn towards the Marin front door. Her hands did that trembling thing that started after the fire at the lodge whenever her head got light and she felt physically sick. Her anxiety had gotten a whole lot worse and it seemed to Halle that she was living in a constant panic attack.

It was excruciating by time Halle had made it to the stairs. Tom Marin had reluctantly let her, but caved when Halle promised strongly that she could get Hanna to eat. She had hoped the packed cupcakes from Lucky Leon's were enough to see that true. Yet, Halle hadn't bet on it.

She rapped her knuckles gently on the agar bedroom door. When Halle was met with only silence, she had pushed the door open to find a splotchy-faced Hanna curled up in her bed, covered by what Halle recognised as Ashley Marin's dressing gown.

"Hey, you," Halle greeted her softly. "I bought your favourite," she offered with a smile. "Red velvet from Leon's."

Seeing Halle in her bedroom had only seemed to set Hanna off again. Fresh tears welled in her mascara-coated eyes, falling fast when Hanna blinked; her bottom lip wobbled as she let out a giant sob.

"Hey—" Halle surged forward, "hey, hey, what's happened? It's just me," she reassured with the light jest, "I'm not that scary, promise." She set down the cupcake box on Hanna's bedside table and climbed on the bed to wrap the blonde in warm, comforting embrace. "It's okay, you're okay," Halle vowed, hugging her friend nearer. "I got you."

"It's not okay, Halle," Hanna cried into Halle's lap. "It's really not okay, it's far from okay."

"Okay, talk to me," said Halle calmly. "Breathe... Talk me through it."

Hanna did her best at what Halle instructed. She inhaled massively, her throat hitching as she did so because of the tears, then let it all out. "I went to see my mom again," she told Halle. "I asked her—begged her — to plead guilty to voluntary manslaughter, but she wouldn't." Again, Hanna couldn't help but sob, "I'd rather her take the twenty years over never seeing her again, but she wouldn't. They wouldn't even let me hold her hand this morning, Halle, I'm not gonna be able to hug my mom for twenty years!" Panicking through those tears, Hanna added, "Then, if it's first degree— god, Halle, she will spend the rest of her life in jail or they'll kill her."

Halle knew Hanna was correct. The State of Pennsylvania warranted the death penalty — and matters were made worse by the fact courts never went easy on a cop-killer, but Halle knew she had to keep her cool. Instead of voicing all that, she supported Hanna and dismissed it entirely. "Hey, that's not gonna happen, okay?"

Yet, Hanna wept loudly at her, "You don't know that!"

"Yeah, I don't," agreed Halle, fiercely looking her friend in her wet eyes. "But I am telling you, Hanna, that won't happen." She pushed, "You can't let yourself think it even for a second, okay?" Halle set out a manta, "Your mom is innocent, your mom is coming home, you are going to spend the rest of your life hugging that woman." It was a bad choice to make but Halle did it anyway. "I promise you," she said, "I promise you you're gonna have that life with your mom, Hanna."

Sniffling through her acceptance, Hanna managed the tiniest of nods. She blinked and more tears fell, but these weren't for her mother this time. "I'm so sorry," said Hanna.

"For what?" Halle asked, slightly perplexed at the confession.

"For not telling you," Hanna gave first miserably then launched into several more. "For making this awkward. For not hearing you when you told me you couldn't do this."

"Hanna," Halle said very purposefully, "I couldn't do that — I couldn't do yesterday's drama. Today, I will do this with you forever," she vowed, holding her friend that more closer, that tiny fraction tighter. "You're stuck with me for life, you got me forever, angel."

Whimpering, Hanna's tears started to steady. "You got me, too."

"I know," Halle comforted. She ran her fingers through Hanna's blonde hair and asked sweetly, "Do you wanna come stay with me until your mom comes home?"

"My dad is here," Hanna said as her answer. Swiftly, she added, "I know what you think of him — how crap you say he is. But he's my dad, and he's here." She rolled her head so her glassy eyes could look up at her friend. "He's helping, Halle, he's paying for half of this. For Spencer's mom."

Halle didn't want to voice it — that she thought Hanna's dad was only paying because if he didn't, Hanna would be more than a responsibility to him;  he'd actually have to care for his daughter and see her more than twice a year. Instead, Halle found a compromise. "Do you want me to stay here, then?" she asked. "I'm a great cook," she almost bragged to sell herself. "I've been told I make the best grilled cheese."

Hanna smiled. "Caleb says that."

"You fancy it?" Halled offered, "I'll even do you a salad to soak up all the cheese."

Using her hand to push herself up, Hanna mustered a chuckle as she teased through a sniffle, "It better be the cheesiest grilled cheese then."

"Only the cheesiest will do," Halle replied, joking with a smile. She stared back at Hanna and reached out her hand to brush the fallen hair behind Hanna's ear. "I love you, you know that?"

"I do," Hanna said, smiling as she nodded. "I love you, too." Then, her smile broke into a large one. She swatted Halle's thigh with her hand. "Come on, I'm starving," she said, already climbing off the bed.

"You haven't eaten for almost twenty-hours, that's why," Halle threw back in jest. She was just about to stand when her phone buzzed in her jeans. She slid it out from her pocket and saw Spencer's name lit up on her screen. "Hey— hold up," she mentioned to Hanna, who stopped to return to hover by the bed. "Spencer's sent me a video link."

Clicking on it, Halle was directed to a local news channel for their county. She waited as the tribute video loaded. The buffer span around as Hanna came to sit beside Halle on the edge of the bed before it started to play.

"—It feels like the entire town of Rosewood has come together to mourn the loss of Detective Darren Wilden, one of Rosewood's most high-profile police officers—"

On the screen mourners were shown entering and exiting the church. The funeral of Darren Wilden did bring out a lot of people and as they watched, Halle's eyes widened in realisation the moment Jenna Marshall was escorted out.

"Oh, my god."

"What?" Hanna voice her bewilderment. "'Oh, my god' — what?"

Halle paused the screen of Jenna and her escort's face. "I met him today," Halle said, gesturing right at him. "His name's Nigel Wright, his lighter was used to start the fire at Thornhill."

Gulping, Hanna put her worried eyes back on the phone screen. "And he's with Jenna?"

Gravely, Halle confirmed it, "He's with Jenna."

•