Daniel nods and squirts bleach on a thick strand of Lynell’s hair.

Twenty minutes later, Lynell washes her hair, cringing at the orange tint. Daniel is fast with the red dye and soon she’s standing in the bathroom, dressed and staring at the mirror.

The mirror is cracked in the corners and has yellowed over the years, but Lynell’s reflection still shows how the red hair brings out any blush under her skin and the tinge of pain and exhaustion in her eyes. She leans closer to the mirror, studying her face. The skin around her eye is still tinted from the bruise and tender when she prods the edges. There are small red dots that paint her nose and cheeks, pimples and blemishes from poor hygiene for over a week. Her eyebrows are overgrown, but at least the cuts on her face are healing, even the one on her lip. She touches it, remembering the multiple kisses she’s shared with Daniel and how they simultaneously hurt and felt better than anything in almost three years.

She closes her eyes, braces herself against the small counter, pulls in a deep breath through her nose and turns away from the mirror to take another shower.

“If we can be sure they’ll contact her if—oh,” Zach says as Lynell emerges. Daniel turns and smiles at her, eyes wide.

“Wow,” he breathes. “Never thought I’d see you with red hair.”

“And?” she asks.

“Just that much more of a badass.”

“You look ready to dip your head in the blood of your enemies,” Zach says.

“Why would I want to dip my head in their blood?” Lynell asks as she sits down and grabs one of the grilled cheese sandwiches on the table.

Zach shrugs. “Maybe it’s your victory ritual. Or maybe you’re a vampire.”

“If she was a vampire, she’d just drink the blood,” Daniel says between bites.

“And if I had some sort of victory ritual it would be much more dignified than using my own head like a mop.”

Zach laughs. “Good to know. Now maybe we should get started with decoding that damn letter.”

The light atmosphere instantly fills with dread as if a cloud in blue skies soaked up all the water of a hurricane. Zach gathers a pen and paper and sets them on the table. Daniel clears his throat, kisses the side of Lynell’s head, and gets up to clear the dishes into the sink. Lynell starts to stand, but Zach just points at the paper before her. She stares down at the blank page as she plops back down on the chair.

She didn’t realize how hard writing it would be. The letter has been in her head so long that the idea of sharing it is disturbing. But she knows they have to do this. If for no other reason than to have a backup plan that will keep Anna safe.

They spend hours reading the letter, rearranging words, asking Lynell questions to try and find a pattern.