“Turn around,” Lia said.

Gem’s eyes widened, and they pivoted. The figure in the distance waved. That was far too friendly for a murderer. Probably.

“Well, screw that,” Gem said. “Let’s get out of here.”

By the time they had locked the car doors, the figure was gone. They had vanished over the crest of the hill and into the neighborhood around the park. Gem kept their water gun up and ready to go. Lia raced to the trash can to toss their trash and studied the footprints near it.

Converse. Not helpful.

“It’s my assassin, right?” Lia asked. “Not—”

“Yeah, has to be. They waved.” Gem laughed. “We’re fine. We’re paranoid, but we’re fine.”

“Let’s just go.” Lia walked backward to the car, one hand clasped tightly around Gem’s jacket. There was no movement in the trees. As they drove away, light flickered twice in the distance like two glowing eyes, but they turned a corner and it was gone.

Lia sank down into her seat. “Of course they pick now to show their face.”

“Who do you think it is?” Gem asked.

They spent the whole car ride and the hour after at Gem’s house discussing it, but they were no closer to a definite answer when Devon showed up.

He fiddled with the straps of his bag and lingered in the entryway. “I’m glad you guys invited me. I keep having weird dreams and stuff. You know.”

“Yeah,” Gem said, “we know.”

They all knew what Ben looked like dead, and there was no one else they could talk to about that.

“Come on.” Gem clapped him on the shoulder and nodded toward the living room. “I think we all need this.”

The Hastings’ house was an odd mix of old, sagging furniture covered in blankets, half-put-together computers, and crafting supplies. Otter, the family cat, wove her way between their legs and beneath the coffee table to sniff at Devon until she was satisfied.

Mr. Hastings came back inside, and Otter scrambled up his legs until he gathered her up like a baby.

“Now, we’re supposed to keep an eye on you, which should be easy,” Mr. Hastings said. He locked the door behind himself, and the security system let out a comforting beep. “Lia, we haven’t seen you outside of school since eighth grade. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

Mr. Hastings put them through all the usual questions and recruited them to help cook dinner. Devon chopped onions while Gem minced garlic, and Lia, in charge of making the rice, dabbed at Devon’s stinging eyes with a dishcloth when the onions became too much. Mr. Hastings kept an eye on them as he dealt with the chicken. Mrs. Hastings got home with Gem’s brother just as dinner was ready.

Over dinner, they talked about school and orchestra, the game a little bit, and Gem’s disastrous attempts at carpentry for the school play, and everything except the deaths. Gem’s little brother Harrison was in band and talked to Devon about music nonstop. No one else in the family played, and Devon didn’t seem to mind. Mrs. Hastings only stopped Harrison when he forgot to eat.