People had been doing it for ages. Lia had even copied and pasted the roster directly into the journal and then crossed off the names of those she figured weren’t playing. The list was glued onto the first few pages.

“I’m not the only one who does it,” she said. “I even—”

“That’s enough.” Lia’s mom dropped her hand on the table. “We’re done. Are you arresting her?”

A chill oozed down Lia’s spine.

“No—” said James, and Lia’s mom interrupted him.

“Then I’m taking Lia home, where she will stay.” Her fingers found Lia’s arm and pulled her up. “If you wish to speak with her again, please contact our lawyer. My husband has just arrived and should have that information for you should it be necessary. We’re leaving.”

They did let her go. Lia’s thoughts were jumbled, her ears full of that same rushing again. They weren’t keeping her. They could have kept her, she was pretty sure. They had to know that you could trace the origin of photos. They had to know she didn’t kill Abby, Ben, and Cassidy.

Devon and Gem had to know that.

Lia’s mom sat her in the backseat of the car and crawled in there with her. She buckled Lia in. Her fingers shook, and it took four tries before she got the seat belt into the clip. Lia pulled out her phone.

“I wish you hadn’t done that,” her mom whispered.

“I didn’t send those emails,” Lia said. “Even the Council knew it.”

Her mom shook her head. “Lia, do you even know who you’re taking orders from for this stupid game?”

She didn’t. The Council was the Council. There was always one, and they were always anonymous.

Lia scrolled through the list of Assassins participant schedules she kept on her phone. Abby wasn’t even in this version, but she would’ve been first. Instead, Ben was, followed by Eric Bins. Cassidy was third on Lia’s list.

Her mom said nothing else. Her father didn’t talk to her either. They talked over her on the drive home. They talked about lawyers and costs, Mark potentially coming back and missing out on class, and Lia being suspended from school. Her mom dragged her from the car to her bedroom. Lia sat on her bed.

“Lia,” she said softly, kneeling in front of her and holding her hands. “I won’t be angry. I just need to know.”

Lia’s stomach clenched. “You should know.”

“I should,” her mom said, “so please tell me.”

“No, I mean you should know me well enough by now.” Lia pulled away. “What do you think happened?”

“Lia,” her mom said sharply. “I do not want to play one of your games right now.”

“This isn’t a game. Even if it were, you have never played any of my games. You don’t even know if I’m a murderer? You don’t know me well enough to know the answer to that? You would never even think Mark would kill anyone, but you have to ask me?” Lia tugged at her hair, her sleeves, anything she could hold that wouldn’t put up a fight. “I heard him say it. Mark’s your favorite. Of course he is. The words made all those little things real, and now this.”