“Ricky got hate-crimed in California?” I ask. “Doesn’t seem like the kind of place where that happens…”

“What are you, twelve years old talking?” Drew asks. “It can happen anywhere. Besides, it was, like, twenty years ago or something. Ricky left Nightlight fine. He moved to LA, ran into some bad people, and that’s where it happened.”

Drew can’t hold my unblinking gaze. He’s holding something back. The closer I step, the more his resolve crumbles. “Then why is it such a big secret?” I ask. “If Ricky got attacked after moving to sinful California, and Nightlight had nothing to do with it, the Reverend I know wouldn’t shut up about that story. He’d open every sermon with it.”

Marcos shrinks beside a nut tree and pretends not to listen. Meanwhile, Molly’s focus narrows as she scratches the edges of her cheek bandage. I’m only inches from Drew, jabbing upward at him like a chipmunk bossing around a flamingo. But Drew’s ready—he wants to tell me what happened.

“Ricky got attacked in California…” Drew turns his whisper so low he’s practically mouthing the next words. “But nobody ever caught the one who did it. That’s because they escaped to the island. They’re hiding here. They’re here right now.”

“And Nightlight knows about it?”

Drew nods.

HELP CONNOR.

The truth. At least part of it.

Now I know why Ricky left me such a baffling message in his will: it’s very likely the Reverend told Ricky I was headed to Nightlight, no ifs, ands, or buts, and I’m Ricky’s last hope of making sure his attacker is caught. Making sure the Reverend is caught, whether the Reverend is the attacker himself or merely hiding them. The FBI couldn’t find proof about the Reverend, but that’s only because the proof is here, just like Darcy said.

Arrest a hate-crimer. So, that’s all I have to do, huh?

With one last plea to not breathe a word of this, Drew decides he’s had enough of us beasts and bolts toward the Coral Road to finish the journey back to camp on his own. Marcos, Molly, and I appraise each other queasily as we digest Drew’s “The devil is among us!” warning, but we know we’re running out of time to avoid being found. We press on into the forest. “Darcy told me Ricky has a camper file that’s gone missing,” I whisper, pulling back more draping moss for Molly to pass underneath. “We’re gonna find it.”