Behind me, Briggs and Archie grunt in approval. I squeeze Molly’s hand, and she squeezes back—we’re surrounded. Darcy, holding an empty tray, bows her head next to Marcos, who is still trapped against the wall.

“Why an island?” the Reverend repeats. “Because I must leech the modern world out of you, and it begins with culture shock. There are no phones allowed here. No phones will work.” My stomach whines with the thought—no calling for help. “No internet. No TV. The only electricity we have comes from generators, and we monitor those carefully because fuel is a luxury. No plumbing! By now, you’ve seen the rainwater catchment systems I have in place around the camp. You have returned to nature, and soon I will return you to your true natures.”

Marcos nods vigorously, his glasses scraping the wall. NIGHTLIGHT, Ricky Hannigan warned. What does any of this have to do with him? The Reverend had me deliver his meals, so they knew each other, but why would Ricky send me such an ominous final message? Did he know about the Reverend’s secret side project? Did he know this is where I was headed?

“YOU KNOW,” Ricky accused the Reverend when we first met. Hearing my name seemed to set him off. Ricky and the Reverend had been close. Did Ricky know I was headed for Nightlight; did his old friend tell him what he and my mom were planning for me? Was Ricky really trying to warn me? Something is missing from this. If that’s true, why would Ricky care about me, a stranger?

“I want to ask you something,” I blurt.

“No, you’ll pay attention.” The Reverend climbs beside me on the pew, his dank cologne an assault on my nostrils. This close, his sagging, black-bearded face reflecting the torchlight, I recognize him as the man who wasn’t always such a prick. When I moved to Ambrose after sixth grade, the Reverend brought me souvenirs from his trips: snow globes, a boomerang…but he probably bought them on his way home from Nightlight Island. And now I’m being treated to a front row seat. “Connor, you’ve trained yourself not to trust people like the men on my staff. Men like me.”

“Um…maybe.”

The Reverend nods. He and I watch each other. The chapel watches us, and my shoulders ache from slumping. It takes inhuman energy not to beg him to take me home, to remember me as the boy he used to bring boomerangs to. “Men of God are still men, and men can’t be trusted, can they? You’re drawn to other boys because you’re hoping you’ll find the piece of you that’s missing where your father has let you down.”

Queasy goo roils in my stomach.

I never should have listened to Ario. I knew this wasn’t safe.

“Don’t worry,” the Reverend says, patting my scruffy cheek, “you’ve come to the right place. Your mother was right about—”

“What was she right about?” I blurt. I’ve had enough. Enough rain, enough cocoa, enough bizarre tension, enough punishment. ENOUGH. “What did my mom tell you? You wanna know what Ricky Hannigan told me—?”