Eventually, the sun goes down. We call it a night long before that.

I’m standing on the edge of a cliff and it feels like my heart is missing.

Sloane.

Post-whiskey, my head is thick and my eyes are weighted. I can barely open them, but still I hear his voice, calling for me. I should let him know I hear him calling for me.

“Dad—”

The moment the word is out of my mouth, I’m awake and I want to be sick. There’s a difference in saying it out loud on purpose and having it involuntarily twitch its way past my lips. Dad. I sit up slowly and check my watch. Five in the morning. Rhys shifts and rolls over. His face is smooth, untouched. Everyone around me is still, hours away from their eyes being open and I’m jealous because I just want to be asleep like them. In this moment, that is the only thing I want.

Footsteps.

Outside the auditorium.

At first, I think Cary. Cary, wandering his way back from the nurse’s office. Those footsteps are his. But they’re not. They are heavy and uneven, familiar in a way that makes my skin crawl. A hand against my face. Dad? They get closer. A shadow moves across the floor as it passes by the door. I jerk my head in the direction of the hall, see the last of the shadow drift away. A person. That was real. No. I press my hand against my chest, feel myself working. My breathing is shallow, a sick juxtaposition against Rhys’s soft and steady breaths in and out. I just saw someone. I know I did.

No. Something is wrong with me. I went outside and I came back broken and now my heart is trying to convince me I just saw my father walking the halls. I’m losing my mind. This feeling circles me until I get to my feet and my legs feel so strange I start to wonder if I’m actually awake after all. When I pinch my arm, I feel pain but—I tiptoe over to Grace and shake her shoulder lightly until her eyes open.

“Sloane?” She blinks. “What’s wrong?”

“Am I awake?”

“What?”

“I mean—did you hear something?”

She rubs her eyes. “No—I was asleep. What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Nothing. I’m sorry. Go back to sleep—”

“Sloane—”

“Forget it.”

“No, what was—”

“It’s nothing,” I say. “I’m sorry. I think I was having a nightmare.”

She glares at me through half-lidded eyes and rolls over. I stand in the center of the room, not knowing what to do next. I can’t go back to sleep. I was dead asleep and then I wasn’t and I heard—no, I didn’t hear anything. I did not hear anything.