He’s removed the license plates but that’s his only attempt to disguise it. There is surprisingly very little damage on the hood, but the front windshield is cracked. The broken glass spiderwebs out from the center, catching slivers of moonlight and something else. Something that looks a lot like blood.

“Don’t,” I whisper, but Teddy’s already moving toward it. I follow him, crouched low with one eye on the house, the other on the broken headlight.

The dog barks again, closer this time. And inside the house, a floorboard creaks.

An edge of a curtain flutters and slants to the side. A white oval flashes and then is gone. I flatten against the passenger door.

“He’s here.”

Teddy signals for me to follow him, and—for a split second—I see Craig’s face.

After he died, I still thought I was invincible. What changed is that I became acutely aware the people I loved were not. And so I cut them out—friends, classmates, even my parents. I put distance between us before their loss could cause me pain. Even though I thought I was indestructible, I knew I couldn’t survive another heartbreak.

Seeing Teddy crouched next to the car, eyes on the window that’s dark again, I have the sudden urge to call it off. The realization that his is a friendship I’m not willing to risk slams me against the chest. But it’s too late.

“Back door,” he hisses, and then runs low around the sycamore, skirting a row of dead hydrangea bushes as he takes the long, semicovered route toward the rear of the house.

I trace his path and feel the ground slope and soften beneath my feet. It’s only a few yards, but when I reach Teddy, my breath is shallow and ragged.

Wordlessly, we stare out toward the dock and listen as the water laps the shore. There’s no movement inside. I squeeze my hands together, trying to bring warmth back into my fingers. The smell of wet earth and decaying wood’s heavy in the air. The lake is almost completely black, just a slash of yellow moon ripples along its surface.

Teddy knocks twice. The sound reverberates across the water. An owl hoots as if in answer. And then nothing.

I hold my breath. A high-pitched vibration in my ears makes me think of music.

There’s no response. But we didn’t expect there to be.

“Ready?” Teddy whispers. He’s looking at me now, and there’s something soft and almost tender in his voice.

I resist the urge to meet his eyes. I can’t let myself be distracted by all that’s left unsaid in those two syllables. Ready? All I know is that this is the beginning of the end.

Teddy nods. That’s it, then.

I try the handle. This time it’s locked.