Notes climb from her body. They build a ladder to Imogen’s window. They let themselves in.

Imogen stirs. She hasn’t woken like this in weeks, and she feels sick with a combination of headache and prickly muscles. Something is dragging her away from her body, back where she came from. Something else is tugging her toward the window.

Her feet graze the floor, and the sense of home floods her. She’s never liked this place, but it’s worn its way into her body, her mind. Imogen knows every line of the dresser under her fingers. She can feel out the knots in the hardwood floor with her toes. When she gets to the window, she knows where the moon will drape shadows. There’s a faraway shape in the woods, right past where the yard ends.

Rush sees Imogen at the window, and her breath catches. Then she sings even harder than before.

Maybe having Danny here is helping her, bringing Imogen closer somehow, and Rush’s song can do the rest.

Lights go on downstairs.

Rush swears into the darkness. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” That word tastes like biting her own tongue.

More lights flick on, and a figure appears like a paper cutout in the back-porch light, long arms wrapped around a toothpick body. It could be Mrs. Lilly or Haven. Imogen said that the day Haven turned thirteen, she made a list of everything in the pantry and crossed off items, one by one, until she only allowed herself to eat rice and plain chicken and steamed vegetables. Mrs. Lilly poured approval over Haven’s dinner plate every night, like it was something she could fill up on.

Rush hated that story. It reminded her of her own mother telling her that she needed to “watch herself” if she wanted to be picked for orchestra spots. Her father, grabbing cookies away from his daughter and then stacking them up three at a time because it “didn’t matter” if he ate them.

“Is someone out there?” The voice is young, freshly cracked open.

Rush wishes she had a song for Imogen’s sister, something to help her right now. At least Rush has the Grays.

Haven is completely alone.

Rush remembers what that feels like. Before Imogen found her in the cemetery, Rush’s closest friend was a cello.

Rush takes a step forward, into the pale wash of the moon. She lets Haven see that it’s her. Which is not very smart, considering how much Mr. and Mrs. Lilly hate her.

Haven stares at Rush like she’s a bad thought come to life. “You’re not supposed to come here anymore,” she says, as weak as a shove from spindly arms. “Nobody wants you here.”