Fiona returns before I can say much more, jumping into the middle of the circle, catching her breath. “What’d I miss?”

“Nothing,” I answer, but at the same time, Allister says, “Nothing—just Jake revealing he can see the dead.”

Wow. “Really, Allister? Why?”

“What? It’s cool and Fiona’s cool.”

She doesn’t look surprised. Only intrigued. “My grandmother saw spirits too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. They low-key haunted us growing up, but she was able to tell which ones were good and which ones were bad, so it was never that scary.”

I always forget ghosts have an entire lore. I’m not exactly overflowing with other medium friends, but even a regular person can feel a haunt in the room, a weird lilt in the wind, a noise.

Seeing the darkness so vividly always tricks me into thinking I’m the only one who can see it at all.

On our way to the parking lot, I spill to Fiona and Allister about astral projection—how I don’t understand how best to control it yet, but it keeps happening and will inevitably happen again. I tell them about the blood on the walls, the writing in my book, the connection to the so-called killer on the news, whose crimes are both mysteriously tied to former Heritage students.

How anyone who attended that school and walked out alive could be in danger of being killed.

“Yeah,” Allister says as we enter the arena of trees where his car is parked. “We’re definitely gonna have to kill this fucker.” He pulls a laptop out of a bag and sits on the trunk.

We join him on either side, legs dangling.

“Let’s see if we can find out a little more about this family,” Allister says. “Sorry, Dad. I don’t think you expected me to be breaking into the courthouse record system when you taught me about cybersecurity, but lessons always lead to more lessons.” His fingers type away at the keys.

“So, the address in the book led you to Matteo’s house,” Fiona says. “That must mean Sawyer wants you on the trail of his crimes. Like, he’s trying to lure you into some twisted game.”

“He wants me dead at the end of it,” I say. “But alive, in a sense. He wants me to see everything that’s happening until I’m so traumatized, I barely have the resolve to fight back. And then, when my body is so weak and my mind so full of horrific shit that I don’t even want to get out of bed anymore, that’s when he’ll jump in.”

Allister types hard on his keyboard, and I lean on the trunk to watch the screen, catching a dizzying whiff of lotion or cologne—something sweet. He’s acting like he has only one minute to type a code that will save the universe.