This time the picture he put before her was a printout of a single email. Lia had been Cassidy’s target.

“You take the game pretty seriously. That’s what everyone said when we talked to them after Ben. He was, too, but you were obsessed. You followed everyone you thought would play all last year and made a little journal, didn’t you? You wrote down their schedules, their fears, their friends. You stalked your whole class,” said James. “I don’t get the game. It’s tradition, sure, but that’s more than anyone else. Even the guys out there said they didn’t go that hard. But you did. You wanted to win. You didn’t want to be forgettable, hidden in your older brother’s shadow anymore, did you? Abby, Ben, Cassidy—they were all high achievers. You’re just Lia Prince, and you were jealous.”

And it was all true and terrible, but Lia shook her head.

“This game is a way for you to finally get recognized,” he said, “but Abby, Ben, and Cassidy were going to ruin that for you. Three kids with achievements taking away the only thing you had.”

“No.”

She wanted to be noticed. God, no one realized how much invisibility hurt. If she were a terrible daughter, at least her parents might pay attention to her, but being mediocre was worse. Too good to need help, too bad to need attention. Her parents, her teachers, her friends—no one ever paid attention to just her.

“You set up a trip wire for Abby.” James gathered his photos and tucked them away. “You went back to Ben’s and took out your anger on him, and when you found him the next day, you contaminated the scene to explain away anything we might find. Cassidy assassinated you in the game, but you couldn’t let her get away with that.”

“No,” Lia said again. “And I can prove it.”

She knew it went against every episode of Law & Order she had ever seen, but she pulled out her phone.

“Lia!” Her mom grabbed her arm, and Lia shook her off.

“No, look. I didn’t send any of those messages to Devon. The IP address they came from in my account isn’t my phone. That photo was taken with someone else’s phone.” Lia scrolled through her messages and opened the one from the restricted number. “Even the Council for Assassins knew those emails weren’t me. I wanted to win the game, but they were my friends. I never hurt any of them.”

Abby Ascher. Ben Barnard. Cassidy Clarke.

That was a lie. They hadn’t been her friends, but they deserved real justice. All the shows and movies said killers stuck their noses into investigations, but Lia had been tossed into this one.

“I didn’t hurt any of them,” she said. “I didn’t even have my journal until today. Someone stole it from our biology room.”

And it had her email address right there on the front page.

“But you have it now?” James asked, his face hard. “Convenient.”