“Please.” My voice sounds foreign. I’m not even sure what I’m asking. “Please don’t hurt me.”

I’ve been so stupid. All along I had the answer: Kaycee gave it to me. She left it for me in my locker.

Chestnut’s collar, poor Chestnut, the dog she’d poisoned. She wasn’t gloating. It wasn’t about hurting me. It was about asking for my help. It was a code.

Someone was poisoning her, and she didn’t know who or why, and she couldn’t trust anyone she was close to.

So she trusted me—because I was friendless, because I was innocent, because she thought I would be able to help if something happened to her.

Brent shakes his head. Dismissive. Annoyed. “You didn’t have to come back here,” he says. “You could have left it alone. You could have forgotten all about Barrens. So why didn’t you?”

“She was my friend once,” I croak out.

Brent stands there, staring down at me. “You’re an idiot. She wouldn’t have pissed to save you. You know that, right?” He has to raise his voice above the noise of the engine, and I have a brief, stupid hope that the people at the bonfire will hear us.

Why isn’t he worried that they’ll hear us?

But immediately I know: he must have built up the bonfire and blasted the music himself. He’s not worried because there is no one there to hear.

He turns away again. Panic seizes me, bringing a fierce tide of nausea: Whatever he drugged me with, it was strong. I need time—to talk to him, to convince him to let me go, to find a way to escape, to get the drug out of my system.

“Why did you do it?”

“You know why,” he says. “You explained it to me tonight. You just got the details wrong. Mitchell never had anything to do with it.”

So Condor was right after all. I should have listened to him. “You were the one who proposed selling the pictures to Optimal, weren’t you?”

“Wrong again. They were the ones who proposed it to me.” He smiles. But he’s not as cool as he looks; when he angles his face to the moon, I can practically see tension oozing off him. “Everyone knew I hung around with all the hottest high school girls. So once I landed the internship, some of the older guys came after me looking for a piece of the action. Everyone loves hanging with pretty girls, and they’re even more fun the drunker you get them. I’ve always believed in sharing.”

I can’t believe I kissed him. I can’t believe I ever found him attractive. I wonder how much Optimal has given him, promised him for his continued loyalty—what final tally of promotions, kickbacks, and perquisites has outweighed all that he’s done.

And even as I think it, another piece of the puzzle falls into place. That must have been why Kaycee threatened to go to the police. Not because she felt bad. Not because she began to regret it. Just another thing I’ve misunderstood. “Kaycee wanted a bigger cut, didn’t she? She and Misha were sharing in the risk, but you were the only one getting all the perks.”