Is this legit? A fucking magic potion, an elixir I could make myself? Is this the answer I’ve been searching for?

If it is, why do I feel dread instead of jubilation?

It hurts to think, my head is killing me, and I’ve got the chills. I’m freezing; my teeth chatter. I dress in leggings under sweatpants, layer on two sweatshirts. I go down to the kitchen and drink glass after glass of water until I start to feel decent again.

“You okay?” Matty comes in through the laundry room, carrying bags of groceries.

“Not feeling great,” I say, my voice hoarse.

“You don’t look great.”

Love to hear it.

“Need anything?”

“I’ll be fine,” I say. “I’m going to go hole up in my room.”

He frowns.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m just . . . I’m worried about Scarlett getting sick. If you’re contagious.”

“I’m not.”

Matty doesn’t believe me, which is how I end up back at Ian’s.

“You need to start wearing coats,” he says.

“That’s not why I’m sick,” I say. “I was poisoned.”

“By the winter?”

He sets me up on his couch under a stack of blankets. I object to soup for dinner, so he feeds me steak instead.

“I have work tomorrow. Will you be okay here alone?” he asks.

I nod, and he touches the back of his hand to my forehead.

“I think you have a fever. Let me get the thermometer.”

I don’t think anything of it until he takes my temperature and it’s a hundred twelve.

“Must be broken,” he says.

“Or I’m just that hot.”

He laughs. “Could be. Could be.”

I fall asleep early, and when I wake up, he’s already gone. I yawn and slide off the couch. I feel much better today, back at 100 percent.

I take the opportunity to explore the vault.

I examine the door, the locks. I could easily rip out the deposit boxes, but even if I did, I don’t think that would help me escape.

Still, it isn’t without risk. If I turn inside the vault and there’s nowhere for me to direct the violence, the rage, would I hurt myself? And if I did manage to get out somehow, I’m in Ian’s house. On a main road.

Mia said the wolfsbane makes you too weak to hunt. If I can handle taking it, if it doesn’t scorch my insides, then maybe, maybe . . .

Maybe what? It’s not a cure. All this would still require me to do the one thing I’m dreading.

How long do I have? How long can I keep this up with Ian without telling him the truth?

I go upstairs and wait for him to come home from work. I order us pizza. I have it in the oven when he arrives.

“Look, I made pizza!” I say, taking out the box. “From scratch.”

He holds my face in his hands and kisses me. “I like coming home to you.”

“Careful. I might never leave.”