Despite the late hour, the air was swollen, like overripe fruit. When she walked up to them, Bailey slung an arm around her shoulder, claiming ownership. The weight of it was uncomfortable, but she didn’t want to shrug him off, seduced by the fickle allure of belonging.

She flicked a glance back at her house. Evan had cried out as she’d crept down the stairs, and she had paused, half hoping her father would wake up and put a stop to this nonsense. But her brother had settled back into sleep, and Aster blew out a breath, not in relief, but reluctance. Still, she had pressed on and now it was too late. She’d aligned herself with them.

“So what’s the plan?”

The others had barely acknowledged her, and she was hit by an overwhelming sensation that she had been wrong, that she didn’t belong here at all, but was simply a stranger who had no purpose other than to serve as a distraction. Or worse still, a patsy.

“Well”—Bailey offered her another lazy grin—“my mother always encouraged me to think big.”

She grinned back at him, but nerves boiled inside her.

“How do we know we can trust her?” That was Charlie. She glimpsed his face, the black camouflage markings raked across his cheeks, his nose.

“You can trust me,” she said. It was true. She’d never been one to betray a confidence, but they couldn’t know that.

“She’s here, isn’t she?” said Bailey. “She’s part of it now.” He opened the inside of his jacket. Aster glimpsed a bottle of white spirit, an old rag and a box of matches.

A sharp intake of breath before she had time to think about stopping herself. “You can’t do that. You might kill him.”

Charlie shrugged. “Serves him right.”

Aster wanted to turn and run, to burrow down into the safety of her bed and forget that this night was happening. This was not what she had expected. Yes, in some distant part of herself, she had suspected they might try to spook him, but never this. This was on a different level.

“It’s going to be magnificent.” Charlie’s eyes gleamed in the dark. “Teach that old bastard a lesson.”

Marco threw them a sharp look. “Shut up. If someone sees us, we’re all going to be in the shit.”

The boys hid their bikes at the entrance of the woods. The police tape was still there, but the officer had gone. They nudged one another, ducking and feinting with their fists, fired up with the thrill of making trouble. Of crossing a line.

Aster trailed behind them. Bailey was whispering something to Charlie. Marco slowed down until he fell into step with her.

“I don’t think this is a very good idea,” he said, low enough for the others not to hear.