Bill whirls around the crowded hallway, frantically searching our faces, but none of us are Ricky. His heart in shreds, Bill stares grimly at the urn as confirmation spills over him that, yes, his son is dead; yes, the Reverend forged those letters; and no, there was no forgiveness. In under thirty seconds, Bill ages thirty years. Purple veins line his glassy eyes. His son is gone. Bill isn’t going home, or anywhere, ever again.

A choking, almost silent cry floats out of Bill. The tension finally shatters when a nasty, shrieking laugh erupts from the shadows.

“I’ve waited SO LONG for this,” the Reverend laughs, rubbing away tears. “Running Nightlight all these years…it was the only way I could protect these children from people like you, Bill. It’s Hell on Earth to pretend you’re someone you’re not, but at least they wouldn’t end up like Ricky and Rigo. That was my mission. But when Ricky died…it all came flooding back. I was done with you, Bill. But you weren’t finished paying. Did you really think Ricky forgave you? Did that make any sense when you read it? Nightlight isn’t forgiveness—it’s punishment.”

“You didn’t have to kill Drew,” I blurt, holding back my rage. Bill remains blank, but the Reverend charges over to me. Darcy skitters out of his way as he pushes past, and she retreats to Briggs in the shadows. Behind me, Marcos grips my arm protectively—but there’s nowhere to run. He and I are trapped against the bunker wall.

“Drew should’ve known better than to start throwing around how much he knew about Bill,” the Reverend says, breathing steam onto my nose. “Do you think that after everything my family put me through, I’d let a few mouthy twinks be the end of me? Let me take the fall for something that wasn’t my fault?!”

“I could’ve shut Drew up,” Briggs squeaks from the dark. “You didn’t have to—”

“And you didn’t have to screw him and leak our private business, but what’s done is done!”

“Well, now we know even more than Drew did…so, what happens to us?” I ask. Breath abandons me as my heart clatters against my chest. I’m too small, sandwiched between Marcos and the Reverend’s hulking, cologne-soaked mass.

The Reverend chuckles, but it’s injected with darkness. “At first, I wanted to keep you from the truth, but seeing how poorly things unfolded with Drew, I have a new plan: Nightlight goes back to normal. You all stay. Drew’s death is a suicide. You know the whole Ricky story, so the prying will stop. If you agree to keep the truth to yourselves, you’ll all be safe and we can go about our business.”

“What about Bill?”