The sirens cut through everything. High and sharp. They drown out the music. The laughter. The festival sounds.
I'm still on the ice. The cold burns through my coat. My ribs scream every time I try to breathe. There's blood on my hands. I don't know if it's mine or if it came from somewhere inside me.
A black SUV pulls up to the edge of the festival grounds. The doors open. A woman steps out first. Older. Gray hair pulled back tight. She's wearing a long coat and her face looks like stone.
Behind her, a man emerges. Tall. Dark suit. He's carrying a leather folder. He moves like he's done this before. Like he's been waiting.
The crowd parts. People step back without thinking. The man doesn't look at anyone. He walks straight to the police officers standing near the snowplow.
I try to lift my head. Pain shoots down my spine. I bite down on my tongue to keep from screaming.
The man opens his folder. He pulls out papers. He hands them to the first officer. Then more papers to the second. His voice is low. I can't hear what he's saying. But the officers' faces change.
One of them looks up sharply. His eyes go to Maisie.
She's still in Craig's arms. Still crying. But something shifts in her posture. She goes very still.
"Miss Lynch," the first officer says. His voice is different now. Formal. "We need to ask you some questions."
Maisie pulls back from Craig. She wipes her eyes. "Of course, officer. I'll help however I can. That girl—" She points at me. Her hand is shaking. "She just came out of nowhere. I didn't see her. I swear I didn't—"
"That's not what we're asking about." The officer holds up one of the papers. "This is your scholarship application to Columbia University. Is that correct?"
Maisie blinks. "Yes?"
"According to this," the officer continues, "your family's annual income was listed as $18,000. Your father is listed as unemployed due to medical disability. Your mother works part-time at a grocery store in Brunswick, Georgia."
"That's right." Maisie's voice is quieter now.
The man in the suit speaks for the first time. His voice is calm. Flat. "Brunswick High School has no record of your attendance. The tax returns attached to your application were fabricated. The medical disability claim for your father cannot be verified because the man listed does not exist."
The crowd goes silent.
Maisie's face drains of color. "I don't—I don't understand what you're—"
"Everything on your application is false." The man doesn't raise his voice. He doesn't need to. "You constructed an identity. You falsified financial records. You committed fraud to gain admission and financial aid."
The woman in the gray coat steps forward. "I'm Dean Holloway. Columbia University. Miss Lynch, you are hereby placed on immediate suspension pending a full investigation."
Maisie's mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
Craig is staring at her. His arm has dropped from her shoulders. "Maisie, what is he talking about?"
The man in the suit turns to Craig. He pulls out another sheet of paper. "Mr. Perry. You've stated multiple times to Miss Vargas that Miss Lynch is your foster sister. That you have a family obligation to care for her."
"I—yes." Craig's voice is unsteady. "That's right."
"There are no foster records." The man holds up the paper. "No family court filings. No state documentation of any kind. Miss Lynch has no legal or familial connection to your family whatsoever."
Craig goes pale.
I'm still on the ice. My vision is blurring. But I can see Craig's face. I can see the moment it hits him.
The man continues. He's pulling out more papers now. Laying them out one by one like cards on a table. "October 12th. You canceled a study session with Miss Vargas, citing that Miss Lynch had a family emergency. There was no emergency. You were seen at a campus coffee shop with Miss Lynch for three hours."
"November 3rd. You told Miss Vargas you had to help Miss Lynch move furniture because her back was injured. Miss Lynch's medical records show no such injury. You were seen at an off-campus bar."
"December 8th. You told Miss Vargas that Miss Lynch was having a mental health crisis and needed immediate support. Phone records show you and Miss Lynch exchanged 47 text messages that evening. None of them reference any crisis."
Each date lands like a blow. Craig's face goes from pale to gray.
People in the crowd are filming. I can see the phones. The little lights. Everyone is recording.
Maisie takes a step back. Then another. "This is insane. You can't just—"
"Every excuse," the man says. His voice is still calm. Still flat. "Every reason Mr. Perry gave Miss Vargas for spending time with you. Every emergency. Every obligation. Documented. Verified. False."
The ice is so cold. My body is going numb. I don't know if that's good or bad.
Craig is shaking his head. "I don't—this doesn't—"
The man in the suit finally looks at me. His eyes meet mine. There's something in his expression I can't read.
Then he looks back at the officers. "The woman on the ice is Brynlee Vargas. I suggest you call for medical airlift immediately."
One of the officers speaks into his radio. Fast. Urgent.
The man closes his folder. He stands there. Waiting.
The crowd is silent. The only sound is the wind and the distant sirens getting closer.
I close my eyes. The darkness is easier.
