“And,” he continues, cautiously, “that officer said she should see someone.”

Jaya remembers the patchwork of angry red marks covering Karina’s forearm. “Yes,” she says. “A therapist. I think we should all go. I’ll make some calls tomorrow.”

Keith exhales and a look of relief passes over his face. “Good. Thank you.”

“She’s stronger than you know,” Jaya says. “She needs time to heal, but she’s a fighter and she’ll be fine.”

“How do you have such faith?” Keith’s eyes glisten. “It usually drives me crazy when you do, but I have to admit . . .” His voice cracks. “Right now, I’m really desperate to believe everything will work out.”

“It will,” Jaya says, squeezing his hand tighter. “We’ve already survived the worst possible thing.”

* * *

With no gong to rouse her the next morning, Karina sleeps late. When she wakes, she is alone in the room, and she goes down to the hotel restaurant to find her parents waiting for her, cups of coffee before them. They place their orders, including the full American breakfast of pancakes, eggs, bacon, toast and fruit for Karina, who is famished again after barely eating the night before, as if her body is vacillating between whether to nourish itself or not.

“Karina.” Dad reaches across the table toward her. “You were right to tell us everything yesterday. You may not fully understand it, but you were mixed up with some pretty serious criminal activity at that place.”

“The Sanctuary,” Karina reminds him. The way he refers to it makes it sound like nothing special, failing to grasp what drew her there in the first place, the vision she still believes in.

“Yes, the Sanctuary,” he says, glancing over at her mother and nodding. “So, given your involvement in some of those activities, we spoke to an attorney this morning and got some advice.”

We? Karina looks at Mom, who is nodding solemnly.

“He advises going to the police and telling them everything you know—the cannabis operation, the fraudulent behavior with the landlord, the . . . death . . . of your friend.”

“August,” Mom supplies.

“Yes,” Dad says. “The attorney will go with us and try to secure some protections for you in exchange for your testimony.”

Karina feels anxiety begin to rise. What will happen to her friends—Ericka, Zoe, Jasmine—if everything comes out? What will Micah do to them, to her?

Mom reaches over and grabs her hand. “It’s going to be okay, darling.” The waitress interrupts to deliver their orders. The plate of food she places in front of Karina is grotesque in size and brings with it a fresh wave of nausea. Karina pushes the plate away as she tries to process what her parents are saying.

“I know you’re scared, honey,” Dad says. “But you have to tell the police everything you know. You’ll probably have to come back and testify if there’s a trial.”

Karina feels her body trembling. “What’s going to happen to my friends?” She sees her parents exchange a glance, silently deciding who will respond to her, a form of communication and alignment in them that she hasn’t seen since Before.