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Before I can answer, Torin mutters, “Well. This is bad.”

A cold realization unfolds in my mind with terrifying efficiency.

Patterns. Timing. Behavioral shifts—Torin suddenly volunteering for search efforts before anyone asked. The weird tension at the bar when Laurel’s name came up. The fact he’s been quieter every single time she enters a room.

Several details suddenly click together into certainty.

I sit up straighter.

"You've been with her."

The words leave my mouth before I can decide whether saying them is a good idea.

Torin tips his head back against the seat and stares at the ceiling of the truck.

“I take that as a yes,” I say.

Torin doesn’t deny it.

Briggs looks between us.

"When did it happen?" I ask.

Torin lets out a breath through his nose. "On the flight back from the tattoo con. That’s where I first met her."

“And you never said a word?”

Torin points weakly in my direction. “In my defense, I didn't know she was Ben’s sister at the time. And because she’s Ben’s sister, I didn’t want to say.”

Before I can respond, I see from Briggs expression that he’s reached the point where he’s either going to laugh or punch somebody.

“You absolute fucking idiots,” he mutters, turning to look back at me with the exasperation of a man realizing the situation around him has suddenly become everybody’s problem simultaneously.

Then he sighs, adding, “Guess we’re doing honesty tonight.”

A new, terrible suspicion forms immediately in my mind. “No.”

Briggs nods once. “Yeah.”

I stare at him.

He stares back.

“Fuck.” Torin says.

Suddenly, the entire structure of reality begins collapsing inward around me like wet cardboard.

“You too,” I say flatly.

“Couple of days ago,” Briggs admits.

“Well, that explains several things.” I sit back against the seat and try to reorganize several deeply inconvenient facts I hadn’t accounted for.

Torin slept with Laurel.

Briggs slept with Laurel.

Both men may have developed feelings for Laurel.