“Terrorizing—” I say, but Amy’s mum cuts me off with a stare I’ve seen before. It’s the look of someone you don’t push. It’s the warning I saw too many times in Martin and Gary—the one that says, Be careful.

“Throwing things at William’s window? Breaking into our garden?”

I try to act calm because Jane knows. She must have seen what we moved that night, or maybe there are cameras we didn’t notice. Whatever the reason, she knew what I did at the dinner party, but sat on it until now.

“Where. Is. My. Brother?” Nia asks again.

“He’s safe,” Jane says. “And he’ll stay that way if you promise to leave us alone. I’ve shown you what I can do. There are a lot more holes for a boy to fall through if you’re not careful.”

“Are you threatening me?”

Jane turns her stare from me to Nia and whispers, “Yes.”

82

“Stop it,” Amy mumbles. She’s crying, and I want to go to her, but I can’t move.

Jane turns to her daughter, who shrinks even deeper into herself. Amy is terrified, and, whatever Chris has to do with this, I know she didn’t want to bring us here.

She glances at her father again, and I expect to see a look of betrayal, but it’s not there. Instead, there’s almost a warmth to her face—one that freezes the moment her mother speaks.

“I’m not the one who needs to stop,” Jane says. “Have you been helping him? Or did he really work it out on his own?”

I think of all the lies Amy told, all the times she said she didn’t need my help and tried to convince me that I had the wrong idea. She wasn’t lying to be mean. She was hiding like Mum used to because she thought it was too late to be saved.

“She didn’t tell me anything,” I say.

I don’t think Jane believes me, but she stays silent, pacing the clearing, then crouching at a spot in the corner. “It seems we’re at an impasse,” she says, not looking up from the ground. “I brought you here to show you something, and I hope you start seeing things from my point of view.”

I can feel Nia’s rage burning beside me. Her arms tighten, and her eyes are focused on the woman who took our brother, but she doesn’t move.

“This is where I come to remember,” Jane says.

She has her hand on the ground, and, when I look closer, I see the edge of a stone poking out from between her fingers. Only when she steps back do I see the letters carved into the gray—W. P.

At first, I don’t believe it. Then, as Jane’s features soften, I realize where we are.