I’m hit with a jolt of electricity as one question looms in my mind above all others: Was that the real Oliver I kissed on the shore of the lake before the holidays—or this imposter? It seemed like Ollie. It felt like Ollie. But this Duplicate, he seemed like Ollie too. If I hadn’t been so in tune to his every movement… If I hadn’t been so insistent on knowing what he was up to… If I hadn’t been able to read his mind, I never would have known anything was wrong. I would have been annoyed by his abruptness, but he could have easily brushed it off, made excuses.

I only discovered the truth because of my unique abilities. And because I’m so goddamned stubborn.

I don’t know why that rattles me deep in my bones.

Because you weren’t supposed to find out. Because Gravelle meant to install this Duplicate Oliver without you ever knowing.

But how? And when?

It hits me then, like a light bulb turning on. The holiday break. I stop in my tracks, my hands on my thighs, bending over to catch my halting breath. I don’t have any proof, but it would make sense. Gravelle must have made the switch over the break. He sent this Duplicate back to Darkwood in Ollie’s place, after New Year’s.

And now I know why I’m so afraid, in every cell of my body. Because if a switch was made—if this Duplicate Ollie was “installed” over Christmas break—that means the real Ollie, my Ollie, isn’t here.

It means he’s been taken. It means he’s gone.

• • •

“Dash, buzz my friends. Not Ollie. The Similars and Pru. Tell them it’s an emergency,” I whisper into my plum when I make it back to my empty dorm room. “I need to talk to them. Ask them to meet me at the circular drive. Now.”

Fear and adrenaline are coursing through me. Ollie has been kidnapped again by Gravelle. I’m sure of it.

And we all let it happen.

Of course, it’s not my fault, or that of any of my friends—how could it be? I never could have imagined this, never would have suspected that Gravelle would do this.

But with increasing dread, I remind myself that Gravelle is unpredictable, and sick, and that his agendas are so twisted no normal person would ever anticipate them.

I grab my coat from the back of my desk chair and slip it on, then run to the circular drive in a haze, finding my gloves in my pockets and shoving my fingers into them. Tears encroach on my eyes as the gravity of what I’ve discovered hits me.

Ollie isn’t here. Ollie is missing.

For all I know, he could be dead.