I find Thomas in the exit stairwell at the end of the hallway. He’s slumped against the cinderblock wall, head in hands, fingers burrowed in his unruly hair. I sit down facing him, lean close.

“Is she okay?” he asks.

I rest a hand on his leg. “Yeah. Are you?”

“Depends.”

I know what he wants—me to tell him that my knowing about Eve’s father, the radio, and the truth about the drowning was all a trick. “Thomas, I can’t.”

He pushes my hand away. “In 1964, the James Randi Educational Foundation issued a one-million-dollar challenge to anyone who could demonstrate a supernatural or paranormal ability under agreed-upon scientific criteria. The competition ended in 2015. Do you know the result?” he demands.

His cheeks are pink blotches in a chalky face. I shrink back from his anger. “No.”

“There were thousands of applicants and not a single person could prove their supernatural abilities.”

“Thomas—”

“Over the years hundreds of scientists have repeatedly tried to prove that people are capable of perceiving something happening on the other side of the world, in a different room, on another plane, or events in the future. Do you know what every single one of them has found?”

I slide to the wall, press my back against it. “No.”

“Zero evidence.” His tone is sharp as broken glass.

“Thomas.”

He bites his lower lip. “You’re a liar. You deceive old women like my mother. Feed on grief. Steal their money. You no more spoke to my grandfather, Dad, and Deacan than you could fly to the fucking moon.”

My stomach ignites like it’s filled with gasoline and Thomas has flung a lit match. “Then how did I know?”

“Clearly, Lucas told you about the medical examiner’s report when he called. I don’t know about the rest, but that doesn’t mean there’s no explanation.”

I hold up my hand, where the message is written over the heart line on my palm. I still believe in you, kid. “What does it mean?”

Thomas glares at me. “The thing I stole when I was a kid? It was a journal. Dad made me return it, but later Deacan bought it for me, hid it under my pillow.” He nods at my hand. “That’s the message my brother wrote on the first page minus the word still. Nice touch,” he sneers. “I can’t explain that one, either. But there is an explanation.”

His derision leaves me carved out, empty. I get to my feet, bones aching like I’m eighty.

“Where are you going?”

“To meet Faith Benson.”

Thomas rubs his face hard. “I’ll go with you.”

I cram down my hurt and calmly say, “I think we’re done, don’t you? But just FYI, there’s an emotional angle for your exposé that you missed.”

“What’s that?” Thomas challenges.

“You never asked me how knowing other people’s secrets affects me.” I glare down at him and will my voice to remain steady. “The wife who approached me in the waiting room? The one whose husband had heart surgery? I knew he’d died; knew her world was about to crack open and had to watch that happen. Levi’s in trouble—I’m not sure he’ll live to see his baby born.” I consider stopping there but can’t slow my roll. “And Deacan and your dad? I felt their terror, drowned with them. That’s what it’s like, for me.”