"You two, have you finished your pity act?" I snapped before my eyes were fully open.
Bronson's grin faltered. Genevieve's smirk sharpened into a sneer. The room smelled of river mud and boiled rice, and their faces looked smug under the single lantern, like they'd rehearsed this exact scene.
"Lucia," Bronson said. "Don't start. You nearly drowned. We pulled you—"
"You pulled me?" I sat up so fast the thin mattress protested. "Name one thing you carried out of the water besides your own ego."
Genevieve laughed. "She's got fire. That makes it worse."
"She'll bite you," Bronson muttered, but the words were small next to my voice.
"Who's in charge here?" I asked, palms flat on the blanket so I wouldn't topple. "Do I look like someone you can just apologize to with a shrug?"
Bronson opened his mouth. He wanted the rescue credit, the gossip mileage, the way men get praise for showing up. He didn't get to finish. I pointed at his chest with a finger and let my eyes do the rest.
"Say it," I told him. "Say you lied."
All the heat left his face at once. "I— I mean, I called for help. Graydon and I dragged you out—"
"You called for help." I let the words sit. "So you didn't pull me out."
Genevieve's smile faltered. "What, you won't let us have a story? We'll be nice and let it
