Seaspun Gallery. I had a show at Seaspun Gallery, and they had an office where I dropped my paintings. It was my first series in gray. Not a drop of color touched my palette for those paintings, not burnt sienna or cadmium red. Just lamp black and titanium white and all the shadows between.

When was that show? A year ago? Maybe right after I got home after Phoebe died. I press my palm to my head as the thoughts spin. It had to be February. Early February. I paw through the letters, checking the dates in red ink until I find the one I’m looking for. February 4.

I rip it open and unfold the letter, scanning it quickly. They were at the show. Oh, God, this person watched me. Talked to me. I frantically search my memory, finding nothing. The show was year ago—it was all a blur of nameless faces and my fake smiles. All I could think about was how sad Mom was at home. But I wasn’t home. I was at Seaspun Gallery. And this person saw me. And wrote about fate and destiny.

Who did this?

I blink and a flash of Brecken’s dark eyes in the rearview mirror. Another of him, flushed and breathing hard against the tree. He’d talked about destiny, too. And about us, together.

We make a good team, Mira.

Destiny’s on our side.

Bile rises in my throat, but I swallow it down. Take two steps back from the car.

“Hey.” I nearly jump out of my skin, but it’s Kayla. Just Kayla.

My hand is at my throat, the letter back in my other hand. I don’t remember grabbing it. Kayla glances at the letter. How could she not look with the way it’s shaking in my fingers?

“What the hell…” she says, and I can see the shock fall over her as she scans the pile of letters. “What the hell is all of this? Is that your phone?”

Tears slide over my cheeks, hot and unexpected. My voice is a cracked, dead thing. “I don’t… This was in my bag.”

Kayla looks back over her shoulder and my senses catch up. I hear Harper muttering. The shink of Brecken’s shovel. He could hurt me with that shovel. His words from the campground come back to me, sudden and terrible.

We should stick together, you and me.

I think of him cornering me behind the car. Trying to blame Josh. Trying to get me on his side. I was right to be afraid of Brecken.

I grab Kayla’s arm and pull her close.

“Hey—” she protests.

“Do you know anything about these letters?” I ask. “Your stuff isn’t here! Everyone else’s stuff is.”

She doesn’t flinch. “What the hell? No!”