The thing is, Fabrice knows how terrible it sounds, a woman murdering both her husband and her brother. And he has very little evidence to back it up, except what Moira's told him about her mother casting a glamour to make her appear to be crying at the funeral of Fabrice's father. But then, he remembers, vividly, the tipping for him, what made him entirely trust in Moira's theory in the first place. The flash of his father's boat keys, laying on Violet's kitchen counter the night before the funeral. The way that, when he'd touched them, those keys, he'd seen flashes of his father writhing like a worm caught on a hook before going still.

The way, years later, those same keys showed him images of his uncle undergoing the same, horrifying experience.

He flinches when Amelie snaps at him, though the reaction doesn't surprise him. "No," he shakes his head, hating every moment of this. "No he didn't."

She's holding him tightly, to the point where her grip hurts him a little, but he doesn't protest, not when he's hurting her with his words. "I am too," he tells her, unable to move, unable to do more and wishing he could.