Fresh sweat breaks out on the back of my neck.

“I at least need to talk to the guys,” I manage.

“Your band?” She taps the pen lazily against her other hand. “I’ll be honest, Anders. They’re good for small-town, teenage musicians. But we all know what you’re becoming.”

Rain spits against the tiny basement window. I hear a sound like wind through tall trees.

“The skill. The speed. The songs,” she says. “They’re just pouring out of you, aren’t they? You couldn’t stop them if you tried.” She unfolds and recrosses her long legs.

The bottoms of her heels are coated with mud. Mud and pine needles.

The sweat on my back turns to frost.

“Everyone in this town knows your name,” she goes on. “You’re a god to your classmates. The most beautiful girl at your school is practically throwing herself at you.”

My heart pounds at the top of my chest. It’s going to seal off my breath.

She leans even closer. “And this is just the intro, Anders. The song hasn’t even started yet.”

I smell pine pitch. Wet earth. The woods.

I look her up and down. The briefcase. The clothes.

It all felt so real.

But she never even handed me a business card.

“Who are you?” My voice comes out in a whisper.

The woman looks like she might laugh. “You want my name?” I can’t tell if the question was stupid, or too personal, or too unimportant. She shakes her head, smiling. “You know who I’m with.” She holds out the paper and pen. “Everything you’ve always wanted. That’s what we can give you.” She stares into my eyes. I finally make myself stare back. Hers are black, iris to pupil. Like slate.

I’ve never seen eyes that color. I don’t think people have eyes that color.

She doesn’t blink. “All you need to do is sign. Give us your word. Let us know we can call you one of ours.”

I lurch to my feet. The second I do I can’t remember what was keeping me in that chair.

“No,” I say. My voice breaks as the word comes out, just a little too loud for this quiet underground room. I sound, literally, like a jackass. But I say it again. “No.”

I take a backward step.

The woman looks surprised, like the rain has suddenly started falling indoors. “You’re going to risk losing everything?” she asks. She tilts her head. “Because that’s what you stand to lose, Anders. All the things you love. One by one.”

“No,” I say again. Even though I guess the answer to her question is yes.

The woman leans back. Her muddy shoes click against the floor. “Oh, Anders,” she says, and now she sounds almost sad. “You are going to be so, so sorry.”

Jesus. Her eyes.

I’m half expecting to look down and see a blade sticking out of my side or to hear the beep of a detonator just as the room explodes in fire.