“How’d you guess I’d be here?” I gestured at his parents’ yard. I’d been taking a chance that they hadn’t installed motion-sensitive flood lights or something, but I’d been sitting here awhile now and no alarms had sounded and the house had stayed dark and quiet.

“Maybe I know you.” Jasper raised an eyebrow at me. Dawn was still a way off, but there was a dim alley light close by, casting long shadows over us and glinting off his hair and eyes.

“You do.” I sighed, because I was still working out how I felt about that. It was entirely possible that he knew me better than anyone else. “Did you come here to stop me?”

Jasper was silent for a long second, joining me in staring at my car. He knew. I knew. There was no point in either of us playing stupid. It was my one thing of value, the end-of-game card I’d been holding all along, and maybe we’d both known how this would play out.

“I was. I was going to come and try to talk you out of whatever plan you’ve got. But not now.”

“No?” I turned more toward him. He looked older, somehow, in the night air. Taller, back straight, gaze locked on the car, not on me. “What changed?”

“I found your sketchbook.”

“Oh.” It said something that I only realized in that instant that I had left my backpack behind.

“I brought it and your bag. And yes, I know it was a huge invasion of privacy to look, and this is probably where I should start by begging forgiveness—”

“You don’t have to beg. I made mistakes tonight too,” I admitted. It didn’t bug me that he’d seen my sketches as much as make me wary of his reaction. “And I was working up the nerve to show you the whole thing for a while now. I was worried it might scare you away.”

“Never.” He scooted closer, touched my arm. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Or scaring me away with your gorgeous drawings. They’re amazing. You’re amazing.”

“Thanks.” My skin heated even in the chilly air. “But how did my drawings change your mind about stopping me?”

“I saw myself. I saw you. And I realized that I wasn’t doing the best job of listening. I’ve been doing a lot of telling. Telling you to get a new place to live. Telling you that I’d play George. Telling you to come clean with Bruno.”

“You meant well.” I returned the favor and patted his shoulder. Touching him felt good. Necessary even. I settled an arm around him. “And a lot of it was good advice.”

“But I wasn’t asking you what you want and why, and actually paying attention to your answers. Really listening. Like you always do.”

“I do?”