"Her name's Audrey Mae Viera. She's the most amazing little thing, Arch. Here." I hand my phone across the aisle to Darcy, and she angles it so my brother can get a better look at the photo.

"Can you believe you and Lily created her?" Darcy says to Archer. "She's lovely."

Darcy pauses, listening to my brother talk. She's super cute when she's concentrating—dark eyes focused, head cocked slightly to the side, fingers playing with the ends of her inky braid. The old me would have chased this girl hard. The new me just hopes she'll still want to be my friend when all this is over.

'Friends' is good, Viera. You could use a friend.

"He wants to know how Lily is," Darcy tells me. Rather than answering all Archer's questions herself, she relays most of them to me so I can respond. It's typically Darcy: thoughtful and understated. It's also clunky as hell, but, given this is as close to an actual conversation with my dead brother as I'm going to get, I'll take it.

"Lil's doing really well," I say. "She had to have one of those C-section things in the end, but it went smoothly. You know Lil—she's a warrior."

Darcy cocks her head to the side again and stays that way for so long I start to worry.

"What's going on, Darce? Is Archer okay?" I ask.

"He's fine. He's just giving me a message for Lily." Darcy shifts weirdly in her seat like she needs to pee and avoids meeting my eyes. My brother is clearly saying things meant for my ex-girlfriend that I don't want to hear.

Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't think about it.

Crap.

Thought about it.

Archer and Lily love each other and I salute that. Really, I do. Audrey is extraordinary and I'll protect her with my life. But the thought of my brother and my ex together-together? Still not ready to go there.

"Hunter?" Darcy's frowning at me.

"Huh?" is my eloquent response.

"I was just telling Archer we have a theory to share with him. Did you want to..."

"Sure. Right. Theory." I'm dragged out of my own unhelpful head and back to the important stuff with a painful thud. Because really, what else matters but this? I tell Archer what we know. "The night you died, Arch, you were supposed to meet Shane after work. Lil says you hoped to gain his approval, or at least convince him of your genuine intentions?"

My brother's silence thickens, the air between us humming with all the things I can't hear him say. Darcy gives very little away. Her naturally expressive features are impassive and perfectly still. If hope is a solid thing, it's stuck in my throat like a golf ball.

When she does eventually turn back to me, Darcy's first words are the only ones I really need to hear. "He remembers."

Relief floods my veins.

We'll make Shane pay, Arch. I promise.

Darcy and I keep Archer company all the way into the city, and then promptly switch directions. Thanks to our lack of sleep and the girls' general #birthemergency heroics, our parents agreed we could skip school today. Darcy's theory is that her mum and dad were so shocked that Danica did something selfless for another human they would have agreed to anything.

My mum's heart is similarly full of the surprise of Audrey, not to mention the discovery that Lil and I are speaking again. Honestly, I could announce I was joining the circus today, and Mum would just smile vaguely and tell me to have a good time.

Free to do what needs to be done, Darcy and I catch a train to the hospital via a quick stop at Manny's to see Wozza. Arriving long before visiting hours, we lie under an ancient oak in the gardens next door and go over the plan. We ring Lily and refine the plan. We buy milkshakes and banana bread from the hospital coffee shop and rehash the plan.

It's only once we're in the lift on the way up to the maternity ward that I realise I don't like the plan. In fact, I hate it because Darcy is the one taking all the risks. But Darcy is vibrating with a brute determination that I have little chance of softening. She's holding herself taller, straighter, and with Danica-level bravado. She'll do this with or without me, and there's no bloody way I'll let her confront Shane alone.

Knowing that Shane's in Lily's room, Darcy and I head straight to the empty tearoom. Last night, the compact space was neat to the point of sterile. This morning it feels very much lived in. The ice machine still rumbles quietly in the corner. The TV still plays inane free-to-air programming. But someone's left two plastic vases of dead flowers and a travel-sized aerosol deodorant in the sink; there are coffee granules all over the counter; and well-thumbed magazines and newspapers blanket random surfaces.

Darcy edges around the discarded breakfast trays covering the coffee table and takes a seat on one of two scratchy couches placed at right angles to each other in the centre of the room. I sit down on the second couch, slipping a small black box between the throw cushions in the far corner.

Taking keys and my phone out of my jacket pocket and placing them on the seat beside me, I try not to notice that Darcy's bare knees are almost kissing mine. Try. And fail.

"Are you sure about this?" I ask.

"Not at all." Darcy scrunches up her nose. "This place is kinda gross this morning. Look at that fly swimming backstroke in the strawberry yoghurt."

"Not about the location, Darce. I mean, are you sure you want to confront Shane?"

"We've been over this, dude. I'm the only one he's likely to believe. It's got to be me."

"What if we didn't do it at all?"

Darcy spears me with her gaze, unblinking and unwavering. It's a look of thoughtful layers and gentle folds and depth, and it hits me in the heart like a honey-dipped arrow.

"You said it would eat at you forever if Shane got away with killing Archer." Darcy places her fingers over the quiver inked on my wrist. "I won't let it happen, Hunter. Not to you. Not to Archer. Not to Lily and Audrey."

She's so calm; so resolute. I don't have it in me to argue further, and a selfish part of me doesn't even want to. I want Archer's killer caught and convicted. I want closure.

In silence—anticipatory, adrenalin-charged silence—we wait for Lily to kick start the plan.

It doesn't take long.

"What are you doing here, dickface?" Shane snarls from the doorway. He's dressed in his trademark lad-about-town style: tight black designer jeans, a lemon tee-shirt that stretches across his muscled chest and arms, and snakeskin loafers that no doubt cost more than my mum's car. His newly shaved head emphasises the squareness of his skull and the thickness of his neck. He looks like a rich thug, which is fitting, considering that he is one.

In the interests of the plan, I pretend his question's genuine. "Visiting Lily and my niece. Lil has a physio session or something."

"That's my sister and my niece. And I know about the physio. That's why I'm in here."

"Come sit next to me, Shane. How sweet is Audrey?" Darcy says.

"Always happy to sit next to a pretty girl, cutie." Shane is an oil slick. I want to punch him so badly I can taste it.

Chill, Viera. Eyes on the prize.

"I'm going to the bathroom," I snap on cue. Stalking from the room, I thump the edge of the door frame with the heel of my hand for dramatic effect, pulling up short as soon as I'm out of sight. Quickly and quietly, I place the 'closed for cleaning' sign, which Darcy pilfered from the janitor's cart, in front of the partially closed door. Then I wait, and I listen.

Shane's laugh is an arrogant bark. "Your boyfriend's rattled, cutie. You often give him reason to be jealous?"

"I told you, he's not my boyfriend." Darcy's sugar sweet tone is not her own. "My dad's a cop, remember? No dating for me."

"I remember."

"Poor Lily. It must be so hard for her doing this without Archer. I can't even imagine."

Shane's only response is an irritated grunt.

"I shouldn't say, because Dad would kill me, but they've had a breakthrough in Archer's case," Darcy says. "I was just telling Hunter all about it. They found one of those nanny cameras hidden in the wall at the garage. It filmed the whole thing."

"The whole thing?" All trace of good humour has leeched from Shane's voice.

"That's what my dad told my mum. They talk about this stuff when they think I'm asleep, but they aren't exactly quiet. Old people, am I right?"

"What else did your dad say?"

"It wasn't a robbery," Darcy tells him. "He knew the guy. According to my dad, Archer let whoever it was in the back door after his workmates left. Archer and the guy were talking. Archer offered him a beer, and they sat and drank for a while. At first, everything seemed okay. Both of them were trying. But then the conversation turned to Lily and the baby. It got heated fast. The guy shoved Archer. Archer didn't push back. He just raised his palms towards the guy and backed away, talking about how much Lily meant to him, how much he loved her. Archer turned and walked towards an old blue car. He said something and the other dude just lost it. Took a swing at Archer while his back was turned. It was a monster of a punch and it landed hard. Archer never stood a chance. His head hit the concrete floor, and that was that."

"He said he was going to marry her," Shane mutters.

"Pardon?"

"The dickhead wanted to marry Lilliana," Shane repeats, louder this time. "That's what he said when he was walking away from me—that he wanted to marry my baby sister. Like he had any right. Like he was good enough for her." His voice drops to a whisper. "But I didn't mean to kill him."

"You did, though. You killed him." Judgement burns the sweetness from Darcy's voice. That's all she says, but something in her scathing tone or her facial expression tips Shane off. He's a smug prick, but he isn't stupid.

"There isn't any nanny cam video, is there? You made it all up to get me to talk? You and your dickhead boyfriend." He's regaining confidence. "I have no clue how you know what you know, but it's your word against mine, sweetheart. Trust me, you say anything to anyone about this and I'll make your life a living hell."

Over my dead body, you murderous fucker.

Fists curling and uncurling at my sides, I enter the tearoom and retrieve the tiny but powerful voice recorder from between the couch cushions. I have no clue where Wozza got it from and I didn't ask—with Wozza, it's always best not to know. But this little black box is going to nail Shane to the wall.

"Give it up, Milano," I say. "It's over. We have you on tape admitting you killed my brother, and once the police look in the right direction, what's the bet they already have DNA evidence linking you to the crime scene? If you're half the man you claim to be, you'll do the right thing and turn yourself in."

Shane rises slowly from his seat. I'm half a foot taller, but he's a total gym rat with the jacked-up physique of a wrestler and the self-control of a toddler. If things ever came to blows between us, I wouldn't back myself for the win. Deathly still and poised to strike, Shane glares at me across the messy coffee table. His muddy eyes flash with hate and resentment and something far more frightening. My heart thuds against my ribs in warning.

"Hand me the recording, Viera," Shane says.

I ignore him. "Darcy," I say. "It's time to move."

With Darcy and Shane wedged in on the same side of the coffee table, she's his best bargaining chip. Unfortunately, she only realises it a second before he does. A single step is all she gets before he grabs her arm and wrenches her towards him. I don't know if the strangled gasp is hers or mine.

My fear-crazed legs jerk me forward, then pull up short in horror. Shane holds Darcy fast in front of him, tree trunk biceps pinned across her chest and trapping her arms by her sides. His eyes are wild and desperate, his top lip curved in a feral snarl.

Darcy's long limbs tremble as she draws a shaky breath.

A tiny trickle of blood makes its way down her neck.

At her throat. In Shane's hand. Is a knife.

My world falls further apart.