The church parking lot was nearly empty, dim under the flickering streetlight. She spotted him leaning against his car—Jason DiLaurentis, arms crossed, eyes shadowed beneath the hood of his jacket.

He looked up when she approached, tension flickering in his jaw. “You following me now?” he asked, half a smirk, half a warning.

She stayed silent.

Jason’s expression shifted. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Look, whatever you think you know about my family… you don’t. Alison lied. We all did.”

He glanced around, then reached into his jacket, pulling out a folded photo—grainy, dated, and clearly taken in secret. He held it out for a second too long, then tucked it back away before she could reach.

“This never happened,” he said, turning toward his car. “And if anyone asks—we never spoke.”

The engine started a moment later, and he was gone.