The next day, I stayed in the house. Karter texted me to check in, and Dr. Grant told me her office had accompanied the police to question the theater attendant running the popcorn machine. He’d only seen two of the men go into the theater. They’d paid, but because it was cash, there was no way to track it. She said the other two must have gone in when the theater attendant took a bathroom break. She hadn’t found anything else important but told me she’d call me if she did.

A little before seven, I told Mom and Mo where I was going and just like Mo promised, they were good with it. No questions asked. I brought a dozen onyx peonies to bloom from the one I’d grown for Mom in the kitchen, and Mo improvised a paper covering with a few of the paper bags from the apothecary. They both asked me twenty times if I wanted one or both of them to go with me for moral support, but I wanted to make the first trip by myself.

Nyx picked me up right at seven and we drove away from town, in the opposite direction of the main cemetery. When we came to a stop, I thought Nyx had gotten lost. We were in the middle of nowhere. The road we’d driven down terminated in an unpaved turnaround, surrounded by thick, black forest on all sides. But through the trees, a small clearing with a collection of ancient-looking headstones stood forgotten, untended.

“Miss Morris should be arriving soon,” Nyx said.

“She didn’t want to ride with us?” I asked.

“She was busy earlier this evening, but don’t worry, she’ll be here. She won’t shut up about seeing you again.”

I met Nyx’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Really?”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s highly annoying.”

The sun dipped low in the sky, turning it to fire. The reds and oranges burned away the light and left only the smoldering darkness and draped everything around us in long shadows. A tap at the window startled me. Marie stood on the passenger side of the car. I got out to meet her, taking in the beauty of her face like it was the first time I was seeing it. She wore a pair of black jeans, a chunky black sweater, and black boots.

I looked around, expecting to see a car. “How’d you get here?”

“A rideshare,” she said.

“You told me rideshares were dangerous,” I said pointedly.

“Not for me.”

I looked down the road. “I can tell when someone is bullshitting me.”

Her eyes glinted as she narrowed them at me. “Right. If I told you it was for your own good, would you believe me?”

“Most of the time when people say something’s for your own good, it’s not. So, no.”