“I don’t care who hears me.” Grace’s eyes glitter with unshed tears, but she doesn’t loosen her grip on Cole’s neck. “Cole, or whatever the hell his name is—he’s the one who shot my mom!”

Cole opens his mouth, but all he manages is a choking sound.

In Miranda’s memory, the whole ordeal rearranges itself, like those pictures made of thousands of tiny photos you have to step back to see. It’s possible. But it can’t be true—can it? Her rib cage is a fist around her heart.

Suddenly the light goes on. “That Nicholas they couldn’t find,” she says. “It’s him. They called him November because of the military alphabet, but it’s Nicholas. Nick-Cole-Us. Cole.”

Cole’s gray eyes are bugging out as his face turns a dusky shade of red. A vein stands out on his forehead. But he doesn’t struggle, doesn’t even pull on Grace’s hands, even though she seems intent on killing him. Instead he stares into her eyes.

Miranda can’t watch one more person die right in front of her. She leans close to whisper in Grace’s ear.

“Let go, Grace. Come on. Let go.” Miranda’s fingers pull at the other girl’s, but they stay as taut as wires. “This won’t solve anything. It won’t bring your mom back.”

Grace finally releases Cole’s neck.

And then she reaches for the rifle.

Oh, hell no. Miranda grabs it up first. After a moment, she jams the muzzle against Cole’s chest. She might not want to see him die, but right now, she doesn’t mind leaving him with a few bruises. She keeps her finger off the trigger.

Unlike the scenario he made them rehearse, Cole doesn’t pretend to be surrendering while really keeping his hands ready to grab the rifle. He doesn’t move his hands at all, not even to swipe at the blood trickling down his neck from the red half-moons Grace’s nails cut on his throat.

Finally he speaks. Or tries to. “I … don’t … You see, I…” he stammers.

“Oh, I see all right,” Miranda says. “The reason you knew about this rifle is that it’s your rifle. And you knew exactly where it was because you’re the one who left it there.”

Grace sneers. “What happened? Did you shoot my mom and then chicken out? Drop the gun, take off the vest and mask? And then you tried to pretend you were one of us. You tried to pretend that you were human.” Her voice breaks on the last word.

Cole doesn’t answer. But his pale eyes are full of what Miranda would swear was sorrow.

Javier curses. “Who are you, dude? Are you really one of them?”