Stepping back from the ledge of conclusion, I make myself consider other possibilities. It could be totally innocent—they could have coincidentally arrived at the bookstore simultaneously and decided to walk in together.

Or, the part of me that still stings from jerky Justin’s betrayal screams, it could be totally not innocent.

Griffin, I tell myself, is not Justin.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” I say, trying to sound like I believe it. “They probably just ran into each other.”

“Yeah,” Troy says.

He’s a horrible liar.

“I’m sure you’re right,” Nicole agrees. “It’s nothing.”

She’s a much better liar, but has much lower tolerance for self-deception. The friend part of her wants to reassure me. The Nicole part of her wants me to be prepared for the reality of the situation.

But whether he ran into Adara or was actually meeting her, the truth is Griffin did lie to me. I try to convince myself that he wouldn’t. Maybe they got back early. Maybe there was a change of plans. Maybe Aunt Lili decided to go another day. Or alone. Or maybe she didn’t want the berries after all. For the moment I am not going to jump to condemn Griffin. After everything we’ve been through, he deserves the benefit of the doubt.

As we stroll past the bookstore, I resist the urge to look inside. Because with all the mounting evidence, it’s getting harder and harder to accept that Griffin and Adara are nothing more than friends. I’m not ready to believe the worst. And the benefit of the doubt is hard to hold on to.

“You never told me you worked at the library,” I say when I get home. My voice, cool and collected, echoes in the silent kitchen.

Stella freezes, the refrigerator door open and an ice-filled glass in her hand, for a full five seconds. Straightening, she clears her throat—just like Damian does when he’s nervous—and asks, “Should I have?”

I shrug, playing it cool. If I’ve learned anything from years of Mom headshrinking me, it’s that if you want to find out everything, keep your mouth shut. Guilty people love to fill a tense silence.

Grabbing the refrigerator-door handle from her, I pull it wide open. When I lean past her to grab a Gatorade from the stock Hesper keeps in the fridge for me, she says, “I worked there Levels 10 and 11.” She fills her glass with water. “I needed some legitimate work experience. I can’t exactly put Hera’s Personal Assistant on my résumé.”

I ignore her awkward laugh.

We face off, her leaning against one counter sipping ice water, me leaning against the opposite counter chugging my Gatorade. We just watch each other. I’m waiting for her to crack. Zeus only knows what she’s waiting for.

As I drain the last drop of Gatorade, I decide to break the silence.

She beats me to it.

“Mrs. Philipoulos called me.” Her French-manicured fingers tighten around her glass. “She asked me about the stolen record.”

I toss my empty bottle into the recycling bin under the sink. “And?”

“And nothing,” she says, looking affronted. “I don’t know anything about it. Why would I?”

She looks pretty innocent, but then again Stella’s the queen of looking innocent. I can’t count the number of times in the last year she’s skated on stuff she did. Me? I always get caught. (Not that I ever do anything, of course.)

“But you do know about the secret archives.” I don’t ask it as a question. “You know how to access them.”

“Of course,” she says. She finishes her water and sets the glass in the sink. “Everyone knows about the ‘secret’ archives. Mrs. Philipoulos deludes herself into thinking no one knows. It’s the worst-kept secret on the island.”

That’s true. There’s still a lot about this island—about this world—that I don’t know, and even I knew about them.

“You could access them,” I repeat. “If you wanted.”

“Of course,” she replies. At least she didn’t deny it. “If I wanted. I don’t want, and I didn’t access. Anyone who’s ever worked in the library could access if they wanted. Are you going to accuse the entire former payroll staff? Better start with Daddy. He was an aide back in the day. Why don’t we give him a call? I’m sure he and Valerie won’t mind the interruption on their honeymoon.”

I roll my eyes at her melodrama.

Though I haven’t got the best record for trusting people, I believe her innocence. Besides, if she’d done it, she’d be gloating about it all over my face. She would still deny it to the authorities, but she’d be taunting me to the ends of the earth.

Where does that leave me? If Stella didn’t steal the record, then who?

That brings me back to the list. As soon as I’d seen Stella’s name, I’d fixated on that. The rest of the list was pretty much a blur. I need to check out the other names.

“I’ll see you at dinner,” I say, turning to go to my room and do a little research into my fellow students.

“Phoebe.” Something in her voice—something sad—stops me. “Nothing in that record will change what happened. No one can reverse an Olympic decree.”

“I know that.” I keep my back to her. She doesn’t need to see my tears. “But it might give me some answers.”

I hear her sigh. “Then I hope you find them. Everyone deserves answers.”