Harlow said, “Your turn.”

“When did you die?” Stella asked.

“Ask better questions,” Harlow snapped.

W-I-N-T-E-R

“Where should we look for the cat key?” Harlow asked.

U-N-D-E-R-S-T-A-I-R-S

“It’s not a ghost. A real person is watching and answering us. Focus on the game,” Harlow said. “Ask a question about the game.”

The game. The Cruelest Jewel.

Stella swallowed the little bit of moisture she had left in her mouth. It barely soothed her dry throat. Believing was the gateway and the question. The answer was choosing what to believe in. Even if she were talking to a dead person named Mercy (h e l p), that didn’t change the fact that the answers would play into Jewel telling her story. Stella breathed in and out slowly, trying to find her calm and ignore the way Harlow stared at her.

Believe in the game, she told herself. Rationalize your way out.

If Mercy, Jewel by proxy, was telling the truth, what would help Stella help Nicole win beyond finding the cat key? What why did she need to know? She thought back to asking Olive why they were there. Why this game?

Stella’s lips trembled so hard when she opened her mouth to speak she had to immediately press them together to regain control. She cleared her throat, painfully swallowing again, and said, “Why The Cruelest Jewel?”

The planchette didn’t move. Before, the millisecond after the question was asked, the planchette was shooting around the board.

“Maybe they didn’t understand the question,” Harlow said, voice low and … impressed? “Try it again. Change it a little.”

Stella sat up a little straighter, a touch of her familiar groove returning. “Why does The Cruelest Jewel exist?”

The planchette gave a false start, twitching to the left and going still for five seconds. This time when it moved from letter to letter it felt slow, sluggish with reluctance, as if it were revealing a secret it shouldn’t.

W-A-R-D-E-N

S-I-R-E-N

Stella had no idea what that meant, but she had definitely asked the right question because Harlow gasped—all excited eyes and a barely hidden smile.

“My turn,” Harlow said. “How do we beat Jewel’s game?”

Stella tsked. “We know how to do that.”

“No,” Harlow said, grinning. “We know how to win, not outsmart her.” She repeated her question, louder and with more confidence. The planchette moved with the same slowness—they’d definitely caught “Mercy” off guard.

F-O-L-L-O-W-T-H-E-M-O-O-N

“See? Completely different question,” Harlow bragged.

EVERLASTING FIRELIGHT

FRIDAY, 9:20 A.M.

Above the pristine door handle, the connected keypad glowed soft green in the dimmed hall. Nicole took the lead, entering the egregiously long code. Gears inside whirred with intent before unlocking with an audible click.

The door opened out, not in.