Kai mutters a curse under his breath.
“Lani—” I begin.
“How long,” she repeats, voice rising now, “have I been part of abet?”
The word lands like impact. There’s no point attempting to dilute it.
“It started before—” Koa begins.
“Before what?” she demands. “Before I kissed you? Before I started presenting?” Her gaze swings to him, then snaps to me. “Or before I slept with you?”
The accusation isn’t screamed. It doesn’t need to be.
“You left,” she says to me, quieter now. “Was it revenge? Is this because I left that beach party before you woke up?”
For a moment I genuinely don’t understand what she’s referencing. Then she says it.
“The blonde. The one you slept with and didn’t even bother to look for the next day. That was me. All this time we were hanging out and getting closer and you still didn’t figure it out.”
The memory surfaces in sharp fragments – sand under my palms, early light over tangled hair, an empty space beside me when I woke. I had assumed she’d left because that’s what people do after nights like that.
My stomach drops.
“That was you.”
It isn’t a question. It’s a stunned recognition. And yet…it’s right. Blindingly obvious now. The pull I felt towards them both. Of course. Because both women were the same, and both were mine.
She laughs, brittle and wounded. “Yes.”
The weight of it settles immediately. I didn’t forget her. I just didn’t recognise her when she stood in front of me again. When I touched her again. The realisation is sickening.
“And you didn’t even know,” she continues. “Even when we slept together a second time.”
Kai goes silent. Koa looks stricken.
“Was this part of a long game?” she asks me. “Humiliate the girl who left before you could?”
“No.” The denial is immediate and rougher than I intend. “I didn’t know.”
“That’s worse.”
She’s right.
“I had feelings for you,” she says more quietly now. “Before I knew about any of this…presenting stuff.”
The words land deeper than the accusation.
She turns on Kai, reminding him of the lie with the twin switch. On Koa, reminding him she trusted him to be different. Neither of them defend themselves convincingly.
Then her gaze shifts toward the doorway. “And you?”
Sol steps forward, composed as ever. “I wasn’t part of it.”
She studies him carefully before nodding once. “No. You wouldn’t be.”
The trust in that single sentence is sharper than anything else she’s said.
“But it doesn’t matter,” she continues, drawing herself upright. “You were all out here discussing when to call it off. Like I’m an event. A strategy. Something to manage.”