Rosalind Chase signed her name on the Rose Festival entry form and told herself the crown was already hers. No Chase had ever won it. This year, she would. She smoothed her pink dress and stepped into the town square, ready to charm the vendors who ran the vote. The square went quiet when she arrived. Not the good kind of quiet. The reigning queen stood by the flower stalls, holding court in her sash. She spotted Rosalind and laughed, loud enough for the whole square to hear. "Look who thinks she belongs on the float," she said. "Sweetheart, this crown isn't a party favor. Go back to your fancy tower and leave the festival to real Deadfall women." The crowd laughed with her. A vendor Rosalind had known for years turned away. By noon, the story had teeth. People whispered that Rosalind was too rich, too polished, too new. Her heels clicked on the cobblestones as she walked home alone. Rosalind refused to hide. She needed one thing the queen couldn't laugh off. She needed a crack in the queen's perfect story. So she went to the one person in town who kept score. Maya Castellano was her oldest friend, until Rosalind moved into the penthouse and stopped calling back. Now Maya ran a small flower shop at the edge of town. Rosalind found her hunched over a workbench, trimming thorns from a stem. Maya didn't look up. "The famous Rosalind Chase," Maya said. "Slumming it." "I need your help," Rosalind said. Maya set down her shears. "You need me now. That's rich." Her jaw tightened. "You walked out of my life. Then the queen chews you up in the square, and suddenly you remember my address." "I know," Rosalind said. "I was wrong. But you know something about her. You always know things." Maya studied her a long moment. Then she reached under the workbench and pulled out a photograph. In it, the reigning queen stood beside a giant rose grown in the shape of a heart, holding a blue ribbon. "She won last year's flower prize with this," Maya said. "Only she didn't grow it. I did. She bought it off me and lied to the whole town." Maya slid the photo across the bench. "I kept the receipt." Rosalind picked it up. Her hands stayed steady. "Why give me this?" "Because I hate her more than I'm mad at you," Maya said. "For now." Rosalind walked home with the photo pressed to her chest. She had the crack she wanted. But she also had a debt to a friend she'd wounded, and a secret that could burn either way. If she used it, the whole town would learn how she fought. Maya's help came with a price she hadn't finished paying. Rosalind laid the photo on her table and stared at it until dark.