Stressed is an understatement. If the ominous messages she was getting before wasn’t enough, now she has to deal with the gossip blog’s torment. And Aubrey, as sweet as she is, simply cannot deal with scheming, at least not without a little encouragement. Of course, though, her source of encouragement is the supposed arsonist, the person she’s supposed to talk into confessing, which is undoubtedly impossible. This is Alistaire, after all. Cunning, charming, charismatic. If he doesn’t want to confess willingly, there’s zero hope that he’ll be convinced or tricked into it, let alone by Aubrey. Stupidly, she decided to take the deal before getting the name, and now she finds herself at loss, pacing outside of Alistaire’s temporary room, grateful that Anson is out for the time being. Does she come clean? Does she try and swing it, anyways? Ali could sniff her out from a mile away even if she made a decent attempt, she knows that much. So, there really only leaves one option: panic. “Ali,” she squeaks frantically, rapping her fist against the door with startling urgency. With that, all of her willpower crumbles and before she can even make an effort to be subtle, it’s pouring out. “Did you get a text? From the gossip blog? Because I did.. and .. well,” her voice drops to a whisper, though she’s not even sure he’s close enough to the door to hear her, “if it was you, I won’t tell. Was it you? Really? I was in that building, you know.”
