She’s right: My parents did treat plenty of people like they were less than human. Dad never bothered to learn the names of the young men who helped him at his laboratory and the house, calling every single one of them boy. And my mother treated these young men with the distant politeness of a woman accustomed to a large staff; we grew up feeling like we could depend on them for anything, at a moment’s notice. I can still see the watery bluish eyes of the young man who found me crying on the floor of Mama’s bathroom after she disappeared—who consoled me in muted whispers. But I couldn’t, for the life of me, remember his name.

I’m as bad as Linos and his family.

“Shit.” I exhale. “You’re right.”

An elegantly dressed couple slows as they walk past the alley, and the man notices us, tanned face pruning up at the stench wafting his way.

“We need to go,” Saxim whispers, dabbing under my eyes.

“I know.” I straighten my shirt, wipe my leaking nose.

“People will have seen the news about your mom. All they’re saying is that she’s from New Jersey, and that her family owned a deli there, which…” She pauses, glancing at the street and lowering her voice. “Tai … Didn’t we joke about a New Jersey deli that follows you and leaves weird comments all the time? That’s not normal, is it? Did they ever reach out to you? To your aunt or uncle?”

Alley-stink in my nose, I scroll to one of my latest posts, a few days old.

themeatmandeli: You look just like your mom! #Mireille4Ever #FindBF2Day #BestJellyDonut4Ever

And there, below it, from Teddy’s not-so-secret account:

teddyclaus: Qt π

My mind snags on something Manon said. We shouldn’t trust them. We can’t trust anyone.

If whoever is running the account for the deli is related to Mama, there’s no way Teddy—a verifiable tech genius—doesn’t know this detail about Mama’s past.

So what exactly does he think he’s protecting me from by lying?

NONI

Tuesday evening in Noxim is eerily silent, even for a ghost town. A red sign advertises the reopening of the ice caves, this clownish intrusion in the otherwise gray-and-taupe-and-green landscape. This place lives in camouflage colors, hiding its evil in plain sight.

I don’t feel right being here alone, but I refused to follow Tai this time. And I couldn’t sit and wait for news from Hérrakí, either.

The car drops me off at the woodcutter’s—Mrs. Arakit’s—as the sun sets over the forest. The house looks faded and forgotten in the waning light—a toy chalet, left behind by a giant’s child. The last remnants of light streaking across its facade.

The cat bowls in front remain empty and cobwebbed. The net-veiled windows are dark.

But still, I knock.