“Who’s there?” I call out.

The crunching stops. But lavender still hangs like thick perfume in the suffocating fog.

Then, just at the edge of the porch, something moves back toward the shadows. Away from the light. It’s more a sense of movement than it is a shape. But I don’t intend to let it slip away.

I’m down the steps and around the corner of the cabin in an instant. Quicker than I can exhale into the night. Faster than I can consider whether or not it’s a good idea to chase a ghost into the fog.

There’s a quick gasp. Not mine. Someone else’s. And I start to move in that direction. But the swirling wall of fog messes with me. The sound seems to come from every direction at once. It echoes off the moisture in the air. Reverberates inside my chest and blends with the furious beating of my own heart.

“Glory!” I shout. “I know it’s you.”

But there’s no sound. No breathing. No feet moving in the dark.

Then a face emerges from the shroud of gray. No body, at first. Just pale features. Damp and shining in the moonlight. Eyes so bright and wide behind those huge glasses.

I take a step back. The trapped look on her face scares me. She’s like an animal that’s been taken by surprise. There’s nothing about her that feels familiar tonight.

Not out here. Like this. A bouquet of lavender still clutched in her hands.

I’m wondering if the girls inside the cabin would hear me if I yelled for them. Would Val come to my rescue? Because something about this feels all wrong.

But then Glory takes a step in my direction. She moves out of the fog and into the glow of the porch light. And I can see her more clearly. Wet curls and a soggy pink sweater. Muddy tennis shoes.

She’s just Glory again.

“You’re the one who’s been leaving me flowers,” I accuse. “Lavender.” She glances down at the evidence in her hands, and her face goes all pale. “Why? Why would you want to scare me like that?”

Glory is staring at me. Her eyes are huge and blinking. Her mouth opens, then closes. Then opens again.

“I wasn’t trying to scare you.” She looks toward the cabin window and lowers her voice. “I was trying to help you remember.”

“By sneaking around in the fog and leaving me creepy flowers?”

“I—” Glory looks so genuinely surprised. “I didn’t mean them to be creepy.” She stops and looks down at her hands again. “Your mother loved lavender. I just thought maybe . . .”

“Maybe what?” I’m so bewildered.