They stopped on the sidewalk, and only then did Reed ask Ainsley, “How?” But he knew. He knew. Again, that same pause. “I was in the foyer with Milo, and . . . Reed, I’m sorry . . .” Reed squeezed his eyes shut. “Sebastian?” “He’s covered in blood,” Ainsley said, and like a switch had flipped, the composed soldier was gone and it was just his sister, her voice trembling, her inhale shaky. On a sob, she said, “He stabbed her. God, Reed.” Stabbed her. Stabbed her. Stabbed her. “Reed, you have to go.” Ainsley was almost yelling now. “You’ll be the prime suspect. I’ll take care of it.”
