I jolt as my phone buzzes.

Jesus, I’m jumpy tonight.

Telling myself to chill out, I pick up my phone, and then frown.

The message is from Unknown.

Unknown: I know something that you don’t. It’s about a little girl named Raven who lost something significant to her.

Attached to the message is a photo—a photo of the pendant my uncle just took from me.

I’d think it was my uncle who sent this message, but the pendant is lying in the snow, and we don’t have snow here right now. However, there’s a ton of snow in Wyoming, which makes me wonder if this photo was taken a long time ago. But then that leaves a lot of questions, starting with...

“Who the heck is this?” I mutter.

Unsure what else to do, I decide to text back and ask, even though I doubt they’ll tell me.

Me: Who the heck is this?

Unknown: I’m your worst nightmare, little Raven. I’m the person who’s going to make you pay for what you’ve done.

My brows knit at the mention of little Raven.

Why does that name sound so familiar...

Memories tug at my mind...

“Come here, little Raven,” he whispers, the smell of blood touching my nostrils. “Let’s see if you can fly—”

I blink, the memory shattering. My head pounds as I sink onto the bed, tears stinging my eyes.

I’m unsure what I saw or what it means, but what I do know is that at one point in my life, someone used to call me little Raven.

After massaging my temples for several minutes, the headache subsides, and I’m left wondering where the sudden onset of memories came from. And what does pendant has to do with anything? And more importantly, who the heck is messaging me?

I had thought moving here was a chance for me to start over and figure out my life. And while things are different, my life has gotten confusingly strange, as if me moving here set off something.

But what?

16

RAVEN

“You got that right swing down, right?” my dad asks as we cruise down the road in his old Camaro, music blasting from his iPod shuffle, his “old man music,” as my mom calls it, playing from some speakers sitting on the back seat.

He’s been working on fixing the car up but hasn’t gotten very far yet. The leather seats are torn, the outside is primed but not painted, and the stereo is missing.

The windows are down, letting the warm summer breeze gust into the cab, blowing strands of my hair into my face as I nod and raise a fist in front of me. “Like this?” I swing against the air, hoping I’ve got the right form.

My dad smiles as he lifts his hand for a high-five, and I smile proudly as I tap my palm against his.

“That’s the perfect form.” He removes his cigarette from between his lips then ashes it out the window. “Keep it up and you might just end up becoming a fighter when you grow up.”