The Grays have mastered the art of looking at each other. Everything they do is heavy with meaning, like they’re slipping stones in each other’s pockets to keep their bodies from floating away in a riptide.

Hawthorn steps toward the new girl, but Rush surprises them all by being the first to speak. “You’re here.”

Rush is careful with her words, winces when the rest of the Grays talk too much. She has good reasons, but they love when her voice scratches against their ears, like it’s found an itch they forgot about.

The new girl stares at Rush like maybe she feels that way, too. She has brown hair blessed with red, cut to different lengths, one side short enough to tuck behind her ear, the other hugging her jawline. She wears a short dress, dark blue as the glint on a raven’s feathers. Her skin is pale in a way that says elsewhere, a white girl from a place where they don’t value sun. The Grays notice everything about this girl that can be noticed by staring.

They drink her in.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Her voice is jumpy, like it’s used to leaping away from trouble. “I’m Danny. I don’t know if we know each other. I’ve met a lot of people in the last two weeks. Were you at Mackenzie’s party? I don’t think I saw you. That’s where I came from. I heard someone over here and I . . .”

“Found us,” Hawthorn says. She steps forward again. When there’s a single sunbeam between them, she reaches out and snares Danny’s wrist, turns her hand up to the fresh stream of light. Hawthorn is trying to read this girl, to find where the truth bit into her palm and left marks. “Don’t worry,” she says with a victory smirk. “You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

Danny laughs, and it should be a nervous sound, but it’s not. Rush can hear the music inside it. Hawthorn wants to put it in one of her mother’s glass jars, the ones that line the barn in every size and shape and color, waiting for needing fingers to pry them open. The Grays want everything about this girl. They’ve been waiting for her.

Haven and Imogen: Six Weeks Ago

Haven knew that her sister was planning something big.

She always got pouncy right before a spell, like she might give you an enormous hug for no reason, or she might jump down your throat for doing something wrong. Her definition of wrong was always different from Mom and Dad’s. So no matter what Haven did, she was always wrong.