I drag over a wooden crate and stand on it to lift off the dumpster’s cover. It hits the back of the restaurant with a loud bang, and the smell assaults my nose: trash, rotten food, and something else I don’t want to identify. For a second I keep my eyes closed, unable to look. Because if I look and see what I know will be in there, then it will be real.

I open my eyes. At first I don’t see anything unusual. Trash bags, discarded boxes and containers, moldy fruit.

But then I see it. A pale hand.

I choke back a sob and lean into the dumpster to shove trash out of the way with my bare hands. I barely even notice how disgusting it is. I find Trent’s blond hair and wrap my arms around his chest to pull him free. His head flops to the side, and there’s blood all over his clothes, and his skin is weird, and I know he’s gone, but I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—

“Hey, what are you doing?” a voice yells. I jerk up, dropping Trent’s body back into the dumpster. A guy in a white apron stands at the back door of the restaurant, glaring at me.

“I-I, um…” I stumble to the ground, tripping on the edge of the crate. I can’t explain this, can’t even comprehend what is happening right now, but I know how this must look.

I run.

When my head clears, I’m leaning against a wall, clutching my side and gasping for air. Sweat drips from my forehead, mixing with the tears streaking down my face. Tremors of pain and grief shoot through me as I picture Trent’s lifeless body, dumped with the trash. I remember how he cooked for us and bargained for our IDs with his last pack of cigarettes. How he saved me from the guard in Aether’s lobby. I think of how he wanted a second chance to turn his life around. Now that chance has been stolen from him.

Why didn’t he run? Why didn’t he stay away from the place where he knew he would be killed?

Except…he didn’t know. He knew the approximate time of his death and where his body was found and how he died, but he didn’t see the crime scene photos or read the reports. He didn’t know the specifics. None of them did. I’m the only one who knew all the details of their murders.

I’ve made a terrible mistake. I should have told them everything. If I had been honest with them, maybe Trent would be alive now.

I may not have pulled the trigger, but his death is my fault.