The room was off-white and bare, and the soft sound of her mom’s breath rumbled in Lia’s ear. There was nothing in there to look at except James. She didn’t have anything to do with Cassidy’s death, but her heart hammered away anyway.

“No, she was in choir and she was really good in history.” Lia shrugged and crossed her arms, shoving her shaking hands underneath them. “She just got the Governor’s Scholarship. She was really happy about it.”

Detective James nodded. “Her parents mentioned that. They also mentioned a game that the seniors play in secret. A game about killing each other.”

“Assassins,” Lia said. It wasn’t really a secret. The students just liked pretending it was and that they were mysterious killers. “She was. Most people in Lincoln have played it.”

“It’s why you were following Abby the morning she died, right?” he asked.

“Yeah, she was my team’s first target,” she said.

“Have you remembered anything else since we spoke last?” He jotted something down on his notebook, his gaze never quite finding hers. The way his wrinkles and beard trembled as he spoke kept his expression unreadable. “Anything at all that might be helpful?”

The back of her neck prickled, and her stomach rolled. She felt exactly as she had in the park, watching the shadowy figure watch her, except now there were emails on her phone she hadn’t sent. There was a picture of someone she didn’t know in her email. There were two people who had been following her.

She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry.”

“You know, it’s weird,” the detective said, laughing softly and leaning back in his chair. “I’ve worked here for twenty years, and I can’t place you at all. Saw your brother Mark play in the state finals as a junior. I could pick him or Abby or Ben or Cassidy out of a crowd. You, though? There wasn’t even gossip about you until you were found with Abby.”

Lia picked at her shirtsleeves. “I’ve never really done anything worth remembering.”

“No,” he said, “you haven’t.”

He pulled a small folder out from under his notebook, the white edges of a photo fanning out from within it. He pulled it out to reveal a small pink water gun lying in the grass.

“I wasn’t in Lincoln till a few years ago,” he said, turning the photo so that she could see it right side up. “Folks talk about Assassins like it’s real assassins, but most of it’s harmless. All fun and games. Most of the people in that room out there played it. They said this was fairly usual—girl alone in a park with nothing but a water gun and flashlight after school. You have one, right?”

Lia nodded. “Mine’s blue.”

“Yeah, this was Cassidy’s.” The pink gun was identical to the one Lia had seen in that photo sent to Devon.

“You were pretty beaten up when you found Abby.” His gaze darted to her cheek and then back to his folder. “Bruised knees, hands, and one bad one across your calves.”