NORA

Hello?” I call into my own home.

As if I were the stranger. The intruder picking locks and slinking through shimmied window frames.

Fin sniffs the air, quick inhales through his nostrils.

I tiptoe into the living room, trailing snow across the floor. Tink, tink, tink go the droplets of water.

And then someone appears at the bottom of the stairs. “Shit, you scared me,” Suzy says.

My shoulders drop. “I thought the house was empty.” But my tone betrays something—the uncertainty I feel, looking for cracks along her edges, for something she’s hiding.

“Just me.” She moves into the kitchen and leans against the white tile counter, as if she’s still a little unsteady on her feet, a little hungover after last night. Dark circles rim her eyes.

“Oliver’s gone?” I ask.

Her mouth puckers to one side. “Guess so. No one’s in your room.” She rubs at her temples, then lifts her bloodshot eyes to mine. “I only went up there to see if you were still asleep. I wasn’t snooping.”

“It’s fine,” I say. I walk to the stove, the fire burning brightly—she must have added more logs. My head has started to pulse, little pricks of light fanning across my vision.

“Where were you?” Suzy asks.

“Just needed to get out of the house,” I say. I don’t know why I lie, why I don’t tell her that I went to see Mr. Perkins. That I found a watch that belonged to Max in Oliver’s coat. That I think he did something he can’t take back.

But I do know why I don’t say any of this: because I’m not sure I can trust her.

I’m not sure she doesn’t know more about Max. About everything.

She blinks several times, like she needs more sleep. “What’s wrong?” she asks. She senses something is off.

But there are too many things wrong. A bone moth is following me, a dead boy’s watch was in Oliver’s pocket. Something bad is happening and I can’t tell who’s the villain and who’s just as scared as me.

Nervously, I twirl the moonstone ring around my finger. “Were you there with them that night?” I ask, the timbre of my voice cracking.

“When?” Her eyebrows crush together.

“The night Max died. And Oliver went missing.”

She frowns even deeper, little lines creasing the sides of her mouth, confused. “No,” she answers, straightening up from the kitchen counter. “I was asleep in Rhett’s bunk when they all left.”

“Did you know they were going to the cemetery?”

She crosses her bony arms, her sweatshirt twisted around her torso, a defensive posture. “No, what are you talking about?” A strand of hair slips free from the tanged bun atop her head.