“All right, scooch over,” Max said as he set a plate of shrimp stuffed with crabmeat in front of Vera. His hip pressed against hers. “Look how packed it is.”

His gaze flitted about the open-air restaurant, a grin on his face.

“It’s like the fog has lifted.” Vera squeezed his forearm, finding any excuse to touch him.

“Ain’t that the truth.” Max pumped his brow. “We got another call from a reporter.”

“Ugh.” Vera groaned.

After his mother came back from some unseen Hell dimension, they were smacked with real-world problems. Max and Vera had broken into the Durands’ home, and they confessed this to the police. They swore that Anatole and TSC were behind the Grim Reaper statues. The cops suspected this already—the figurines had been showing up at crime scenes and car accidents connected to Sunshine followers—but they couldn’t prove any criminal activity. Max and Vera insisted they go to the basement of the Durand home. Eventually they got a warrant and discovered the makeshift altar, boxes of statues, Sunshine merchandise, shattered chalices, and containers full of cyanide. The Durands had already skipped town by that point, but they were easy to find. A follower had posted a picture of them on Instagram.

It was ultimately the cult members who offered the most damning evidence. Once the trance was broken and they were no longer under the influence of the demon, they could finally think clearly. They realized how close they’d come to dying, and they submitted statements to the police, detailing stories of being coerced to worship a demon and distribute poison. The cult was deemed a criminal organization and the media devoured the story.

Max and his entire family refused interviews. So did Vera’s coworker Samantha, who said she remembered everything she did as if she were drunk, her brain not in control of her actions. It was probably better that way. Chelsea was helping her through the aftermath.

“Did you hear the mayor is talking about another memorial sculpture?” Max asked, biting into corn on the cob dripping with butter.

“It’s a nice gesture.” Vera smiled.

Max rolled his eyes.

The families who lost someone the day of the explosion had filed a class-action suit against the Durands. It would take years to wind itself through the legal system, but it gave them somewhere to place their blame. It gave them an answer to the darkest question: why did this happen? It gave the town a way to finally close its bleakest chapter. The Durand trial was scheduled to be broadcast live. And a documentary was already filming.

“Your parents get back tomorrow?” Max asked, his mouth full.

“Yeah, false alarm.” Vera’s parents were working another case.

Their plane touched down from Barcelona the day after the demon was vanquished. It might have been the first time in Vera’s life she knew, with utter certainty, that her parents were proud of her. It was like that day finally solidified her as a member of her family. And Vera wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She didn’t want to have to earn her parents’ love, and she didn’t want her parents’ lives. She hated the idea of spending weeks or months traveling, away from the people who loved her, and she wouldn’t mind going her whole life never again seeing a nightmare-inducing hell beast. Dipping her toe into the demonic was enough.