I don’t know if I believe we can. Or if that seems even remotely possible. Gravelle has spent nearly two decades scheming, making plans. We have no idea what he wants, except to screw with everyone we know and love.

“If we tell Jane,” Ansel speaks up, interrupting my thoughts, “she’ll immediately leave Darkwood, won’t she? And try to look for Ollie?”

“If she suspects he’s back on Castor Island…” I think out loud.

“Then that’s where she’d go, welcome or not.”

“Isn’t that what Gravelle wants?” Pru asks. “To lure her there? He still loves her, in his warped way. What if this is all a ploy to get her on his turf?”

“Then we can’t let that happen,” I say quietly. “Jane won’t be able to do anyone any good if she’s locked up there. Which means we have to keep this a secret from her.”

“But is that fair to her?” Levi asks. “What if we knew about Ollie, that he was gone, that he’d been replaced by a clone—and we didn’t tell you?”

“I’d kill you,” I answer wryly.

“Exactly,” he says. But his voice is soft and lacking any edge. He’s trying to help. They all are.

Levi’s right. I have to tell Jane. Still, we can’t let her go off on a suicide mission to Castor Island. As much as I want to find Ollie, we have to be smart about it. We have to figure out what Gravelle wants and find a way to stop him, to outsmart him.

I wish I had even the slightest idea how.

Later that night, when I finally collapse in bed, the tears come. I am racked with sobs as the reality of what I’ve discovered hits me hard, like a speeding truck. I cry myself to sleep at two in the morning.

The Parents

The next morning, I head straight to Jane’s office. I’ve barely slept at all. Telling her that her son has been replaced is going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Harder, even, than telling her last year about Levi’s existence. Losing her son the first time broke her in two. I don’t know if she’ll survive the blow this time.

When I get to her office and knock softly on the door, a gravelly voice answers.

“Yes?”

I’m confused. That doesn’t sound like Jane. It sounds like…

I push open the door. Principal Fleischer. She’s sitting behind Jane’s desk, acting like she owns the place.

“I don’t remember inviting you in.” Fleischer surveys me with disdain.

“Oh,” I say, flummoxed. “Where’s Ja—I mean, Headmistress Ward?”

“Interim headmistress,” Fleischer responds curtly. “And she’s gone to California on urgent business. Won’t be back for quite some time.”

“What kind of business?” I demand.