She blinks a few times when she notices I’m looking at her. Since we arrived, she’s made herself generally scarce, only coming out of her old quarters to eat. I would have forgotten her presence entirely if I wasn’t sleeping with the president of her fan club and didn’t have her anguished face burned into my eyelids. The way she looked at me when I first arrived. That moment of recognition. I still don’t know if it was real or imagined.

“Good morning,” I finally say to her, offering as genuine a smile as I’m capable of.

Graham looks up and sees her, seemingly for the first time. “Oh, hi,” he says, waving slightly. “I didn’t realize you were up. Good morning.”

She smiles through a sip of coffee. “I’m always up,” she says. It sounds less like a fact and more like a threat.

I take my coffee to go and make my way to the bedroom, climbing so slowly you’d think each step was a hurdle of Everest proportions. I’m already exhausted and the day hasn’t even started yet, but I guess that’s what happens when you don’t sleep. When you spend nights on a treadmill or staring at a wood-paneled ceiling next to someone snoring so loud it’s like he’s bragging about how fantastic a night’s sleep he’s getting. How peaceful he’s allowed to be here. How much this place warms his sad little heart.

I follow my own footsteps back to Reed and Veronica’s door. It’s not as menacing in the light of day—the bookshelves and console table in the vestibule are warmer, the cushioned window seat even welcoming. Frankly, I’m shocked I didn’t get caught last night—the hiding places were nonexistent. Though I guess there was no one awake to catch me.

The poster was the first time I had to take our meticulous plan into my own hands. Based on his harsh reaction, I assumed Graham would share the woodland discovery with his brother, someone he could talk to about it. But I guess their relationship was even more fractured than I thought it was.

For the briefest moment, I close my eyes and listen, standing so still in the hallway anyone who passes might think I’ve fallen asleep. It’s like every floorboard creak and door hinge whisper has a microphone. Like the house itself is trying to offer warnings. But warnings to whom, I’m unsure.

That’s when I hear some stirring. An old bed creaking as someone turns. The floorboards waking up. Shoes slipped on. Glasses slapped out of their case.

“How’re you doing in there, babe?” Veronica’s voice is raspy, like the words had to claw their way out. “Need anything?”

I hear a moan from the bathroom, then the door slowly creaking open.