I don’t. I’m already way too aware, and it’s an uneasy, unfamiliar feeling.

“I have to go.” I turn away, hoping I can outrun whatever draw he has on me.

“Ava,” he calls after me.

I freeze before turning back slowly. “How’d you know my name?”

His eyes pinch like I’ve caught him at something. “You gave it to me. Onstage.”

“I didn’t.” I never give my name out easily.

He shrugs, and a charming, easy grin spreads across his face. “Well, maybe I’m a mentalist.” He winks.

“But you’re not.” I say it like a statement, but it’s more of a question. Mentalists freak me out a little.

“No.” He chuckles. “Pretty sure you gave it to me onstage. You haven’t asked for my name, though. Are you a mentalist?”

“No. I just didn’t want it.”

“Ouch.” His smile’s too bright to be hurt. “I’m Xander.”

“Sure.” I step away again, taking his name with me and leaving mine behind.

“Aren’t you going to answer my question?” he calls after me.

“What?” I glance back.

“Did you like it?”

I hesitate. “I loved the show.”

He grins as I start to turn away again. “It’s more than just a show. Come again tomorrow, and maybe you’ll see.”

His words almost pull me back, but I shake my head and start walking. The boy’s chuckling follows me, nipping at my heels. He’s only joking. Magicians always want you to believe they’re more. Except Mom. She always scolded me when I called what she did magic. It’s just a trick, Ava. Nothing more. It’s never more.

Her voice is so clear in my head that I stop walking.

My chest tightens. I can’t stop myself from thinking about it any longer. I wish it weren’t so easy to remember, but all the details, every little one, are hungry to rise to the surface—and not just what I saw but what I felt.

The day my mother was murdered is imprinted in my memory.

That morning, I woke up and headed to the kitchen, where Mom should have been making breakfast. She wasn’t.

Something felt wrong, like the air was too heavy. I wish I could forget that feeling—that sinking dread before you even realize something is really wrong.

I moved to the back of the trailer to check her bed, just in case she was sleeping in, even though she always woke up early. Nothing.

Mom had decided the day before that we needed to move again, so we were parked in an empty campground on the road toward who knows where. I wasn’t supposed to leave our trailer without telling Mom, but I pushed open the door into the cold morning air and shivered as I stepped out onto the metal step.