“This wouldn’t happen if Savior were here. Where’s that boy?” a gruff voice says from behind me. I don’t turn to look. I feel sorry for Jacobi. I know everyone’s thinking the same thing. The excitement I had about being at the game soon wears off, and anxiety gathers in my chest—how am I going to sneak away from my friends?

Behind me, the man mouthing off about Jacobi stands suddenly, yelling about another fumble, and knocks over his drink. The liquid spreads, soaking my shirt. Guess I should be careful what I wish for.

I stand quickly, wringing out my shirt. The loud man hasn’t even realized he’s made a mess.

“Great!”

“Oh no,” I hear Lily say.

“We can go back to the dorm, get you a new shirt,” Sara says.

“No, no. It’s fine,” I say. “I’ll just go stand over the hand dryer for a little bit.”

“Want me to come with you?” Lennon asks.

“No, that’s okay. I won’t be long.”

I smile at them and hurry away.

The bright lights burn my back as I wander away from the football field. Ahead, the night is illuminated by a few electric lampposts sprinkled across campus. I don’t mind the night—I prefer it. When we lived in the city, I used to wish there were fewer lights.

I follow the sidewalk as it weaves across campus, making my way to the trees where I captured Vera’s soul. I use my phone as a flashlight, shining it as I step, looking for any sign of the coin. As I get deeper into the woods, farther than I’ve gone before, I start to feel like my energy is being drained. When I look up, I don’t see any dead, but something that strong can’t be good.

I resist the urge to investigate, clutching my fist tight, fighting the thread burrowing out of my palm. I came to find the coin, not the dead. I search the ground at my feet but only find dead leaves, twigs, and acorns. No coin.

That’s when I encounter the first dead guy. He’s standing still, eyes far off and glazed, blood dripping from his nose and drool from his mouth. I step around him, heart racing, only to find another a few feet away. This one has burns covering most of his body. From the corner of my eye, I see another figure and another. They’re all around me.

I’m standing on a mass grave, I realize with horror.

The majority of these dead were killed in a fire. Their skin looks like it was attacked by a cheese grater: vibrant red scars, shiny with fresh blood and plasma. There are others with wounds to their heads and wrists, some with rope burns around their necks and tongues that loll out of their mouths.