Amy’s off again, racing toward the pond. Orion said that Kayleigh’s death was murder, not suicide. When Harley and I found her body, she was plastered in med patches. I remember the way Evie became so placated when Doc pressed a Phydus med patch into her skin. Kayleigh didn’t have the new Phydus patch, but there are others, patches that make you sleep, for example. And with enough med patches, Kayleigh would have just stood in the pond and let herself drown while Eldest watched his secret sink beneath the surface along with her.

Amy kicks off her moccasins at the edge of the pond and strips off her jacket, tossing it on the ground. She unwinds the long strip of cloth that binds her hair up.

“Turn around,” she says, and only then do I realize I’m staring.

“It’s not like I—um—you know—uh,” I stammer, feeling my face grow hot with embarrassment.

“Turn. Around,” Amy says again, but she’s smiling at me.

I spin around, staring at the ground and trying very hard not to listen to the rustle of cloth as Amy undresses.

A moment later, I hear a splash and turn back around. Amy’s pants and tunic lie in a crumpled pile; she must be wearing only her underwear and tank top under the water. My face grows even hotter at the thought, and I wonder how strange it would look if I stuck my head under the water to clear my mind.

“What are you looking for?” I call out over the water to her.

“A way down!” she says. The water’s clear, although a foggy brown rises up from the silty bottom of the pond near her feet.

She dives under the surface and is gone for nearly a full minute.

Then she bursts up from the surface, takes a huge gulp of air, and dives back down.

Huge bubbles burst along the surface.

My eyes scan the water. I see flashes of red, flicks of pale skin. I count the seconds.

Then Amy breaks through the surface, sucking in air and letting it all out in one long whoop of triumph.

“What’s going on?” a voice calls from the garden path.

“Crap, crap, crap,” Amy mutters behind me as she wiggles back into her pants. I risk a look over my shoulder as she tugs her tunic back into place. She steps forward just as Bartie and Victria come around the hydrangeas and down to the pond.

Her wet clothes soak through her dry ones, making everything stick to her curves in a way that I can’t rip my eyes from.

“Hello!” Amy calls to them.

“What are you doing?” Victria asks quietly.

I search her face. Victria was always the quiet one of our group, but I never noticed how silent she’d become since the Season. Not until Amy told me about what had happened to her.