Emma stared ahead at the gleaming wooden coffin, dry-eyed, the ache in her chest too enormous to comprehend. She had been living with the loss of her sister for four long months—four months when she couldn’t grieve, when she lived under constant terror. Now that she had the chance to say good-bye, she wasn’t sure what to feel. She’d lost someone she’d never even met. But in a way, she felt closer to Sutton than anyone. She thought again about the shimmering form in the canyon. Translucent, blindingly beautiful. She and Sutton had been connected by something deeper and stronger than she could understand—and she didn’t know how to let go of that.

And neither did I.

Across the aisle from the Mercers sat the Lying Game girls. Charlotte twisted a handkerchief in her fists. Madeline and Thayer sat side by side, Thayer’s arm tucked protectively around his sister as she wept. He looked shell-shocked, his gaze glued intently to Sutton’s photo. Even the Twitter Twins, who were usually buoyant, leaned against each other for support. Gabby stared at the ground, tears plopping straight down from her button nose. Lili turned her face away into her sister’s arms, her shoulders trembling.

The Mercers had asked the hospital chaplain to perform the funeral—they’d never been a religious family, but Father Maxwell had known Sutton since she was a little girl. He wept openly as he delivered the eulogy, reminiscing about the rambunctious, joyful child he’d seen grow into a promising young woman. Emma barely listened. The priest’s words were compassionate and well chosen, but there was no way he could speak to the Sutton she knew. Because even though they’d never met, by now she knew Sutton better than anyone. She knew the parts of her that had been haughty or selfish—but more than that, she knew the parts that had been loyal, and fierce, and passionate. She knew her sister had been a fighter. Sutton had lent her some of her strength, that night in the canyon.

She almost didn’t notice when the priest gave the final benediction. Then all the guests were on their feet, a low murmur rising up in the packed church. People crowded around the Mercers to pay their respects. Laurel was already wrapped in a hysterical hug by their pottery teacher, Mrs. Gilliam, and Mr. Mercer was deep in a low conversation with Dr. Banerjee, two men bonded in the loss of their daughters. Suddenly Emma felt claustrophobic. She edged away from her family toward an alcove behind a column. After so long living as Sutton, and then as a wanted woman, it felt strange to slip away and become invisible, just like the old Emma had been.