Something like an egg wallops the top of my skull, only this egg hits as hard as a fist. Briggs’s fist. “Not your turn to speak, mate,” he says before trotting back down the aisle. Molly grips my hand while I wince through a throb in my skull. Her breathing shudders audibly, a tsunami of rage barely kept back.

“Time for bed,” the Reverend says, rising. Briggs was reprimanded for not giving us shoes, but a fist to a kid’s skull doesn’t move our glorious director to speak up—good to note. At Nightlight, mentioning Ricky is worth a smack. “Miss Culpepper, I want you to take Miss Partridge to her lodge and then you may go to dinner. Mr. Carrillo, do the same with Mr. Major. And I want you newcomers to follow their instructions to the letter or there will be punishment. Welcome to Nightlight. It might seem like you’re giving up your freedom to be here, but we’re actually giving you your freedom. Freedom to live the life you want. And you can achieve it. Whatever your hearts desire. Safety. Normalcy. Children.”

At the mention of children, the Reverend’s laser gaze bores into me. He and Mom are Team Connor-and-Vicky, so I’m not surprised.

“Do good work,” the Reverend says gently, “and before you know it, you’ll be home again. I promise.”

Marcos and Darcy emerge from the shadows and come for us. Molly stands, but I refuse. My mom is here—I know it. She’s spying on me from some window, so eager to teach me a lesson that she got everyone we know together to scare me and trick me. Ricky’s warning was just a forgery, that flight was fake, and this is all a movie set.

“Time for bed,” the Reverend repeats, his shadow growing behind the candelabra flames.

“Is this for real?” I ask. Marcos’s, Darcy’s, and Molly’s faces drop the same way at the same time. We’re really here. For real.

“Marcos, before bed, show Connor the Winner’s Wall,” the Reverend orders, his face tightening into a blank death mask. “He’ll know how serious I am.” Whatever the Winner’s Wall is exactly, the man who used to bring me boomerangs doesn’t care about me anymore.

My head still throbs from Briggs’s smack. I fight my vision’s urge to spin as my kidnapper drives us in a banged-up Jeep Wrangler farther into camp. Black, endless jungle rushes past my open window, and floodwaters—dimly visible through our headlights—continue to overtake the Coral Road. Briggs swerves around fallen branches and roots, careening through the wilderness without once dropping speed. Marcos, Darcy, Molly, and I all cling to the “Oh, Shit” handles until we reach the next sign of civilization—a stilted, one-story lodge beside a vast lake. Two torches guard the building’s entrance as our headlights shine across the road sign:

LAKE MONTEVERDE

Briggs pumps the Wrangler’s brakes, and we hydroplane across the flooding road before coming to a rickety stop beside the lodge stairs. Adrenaline spikes my heart awake, but Briggs shrugs like he meant to do that. Over Briggs’s shoulder, rain and moonlight dance together on the surface of a lake that stretches forever. If I have to be at Nightlight, at least this tropical view is less depressing than Reverend Packard’s soybean fields.