"Kneel." The word landed like a verdict. I dropped to my knees in the snow, my palms cold on the pavement, the cardboard sign heavy against my chest. "She killed Selena Song," Roman said into the microphone, his smile bright enough to cut through the winter light. Cameras flashed. Phones lifted. Someone cheered. Someone hissed. "Do it again," a woman nearby shouted. "Tell us everything." "Tell the truth!" a man with a live-stream banner barked. "We want the truth!" "I killed her," I mouthed, voice gone. The words tasted like copper and ash. Reporters repeated them into cameras like a chorus. "This is justice," a teenager said, recording with both hands. "She thought she was untouchable." "Look at her," another voice said close by. "She begged once. Now she kneels." Roman walked the small circle like a conductor. "Three years ago, she fooled all of you," he said. "She pretended to be perfect. She hid the truth. Today, she pays." "Why are you doing this?" I asked, though my throat scraped raw. I didn't expect an answer that would fix anything. Roman crouched in front of me, close enough that I could smell the expensive cologne. "You remember when I proposed?" he asked, smiling in rehearsal. "You remember that ring? You told me we were a team. You chose your enemy." "I didn't—" I started. "You chose Selena," he finished for me. "You killed her to save your little life." "Liars!" someone yelled from the edge of