After a few minutes in the chair, observing her sister, and after hearing the sound of a car coming to a stop in the rocky driveway, Kalani sprang up to turn on the lights.

Lea’s eyes had been open the whole time.

“What are you doing?” Kalani said. “You were just lying there watching me?”

“And how about you?”

“Who’s here?”

“What?” Lea’s voice was calm, flat.

“Who’s here?!”

“You’re here, in my room.”

“In the driveway,” Kalani said, well aware of screeching in her voice. “Someone just pulled up in a car. Can’t you—”

Lea interrupted her. “So what have you been doing this whole time? Why? Just creeping in here to watch me sleep?”

“They said you were sleeping.”

“Then what’s the mystery?” Lea said. “What are you doing?”

“They said you were on sleeping pills.”

Lea laughed.

“Are you?”

“Do I seem like it?” Lea said, sitting up a little with her head against the headboard. She folded her arms over her chest. “You tell me, was I sleeping?”

“They said you seemed . . . intoxicated. Like, medicated, somehow.”

“Awesome.”

“You fell asleep during the movie and they had to help you to bed.”

“I was tired.”

Kalani stared at her, listening to the car below, the sound of a parking brake. The sound of the engine cutting off, and then, nothing but crickets and frog songs.

“You look so surprised,” Lea said, “to find me in bed.”

Kalani was surprised—at how clear and sober her sister had seemed. How wide awake and almost calculatingly brilliant. The way she’d just sparred with her. It was something that came naturally to the sisters, but not usually under her medicated cloud. Those times, the sparring would turn real, physical, or just ugly screaming. But here she was razor sharp, and it scared the crap out of Kalani.

Had it all been a ploy? For years?

“So you were just tired,” Kalani said, walking over to her chair again. “That’s fine, totally fine.”

“Yes,” Lea said. “It is.”

“I was just worried about you.”

Had Lea pretended to be medicated to get away from the movie? Or to get away from their questions and suspicions?

More likely it was to get away from Sam’s ongoing and very penetrating active analysis.

“What was it?” Kalani said, taking a seat in the rocking chair between the window and bed. “Was it Sam? Was he bothering you?”

“No,” Lea said, “of course not.”

“He made you feel tired, huh? I can see that. You know his type, the intellectual.”

“You mean, the neurotic?”

“Sure.”

“No, I was really just tired,” Lea said, unfolding her arms and stretching them out above her head. She yawned, big and long, and then brought them back down again before asking, “So, who’s here? Friends of yours?”

“Huh?”

“Friends of theirs?”

“I don’t know,” Kalani said. “I’m not expecting anyone. Are you?”

Lea smiled. “No.” She drew back the thin white sheet that had been covering her up to her chest, folding it back slowly. She sighed. “It’s too hot even for a single damn sheet. How much longer do you think we’ll have to stay here? How many more nights? Aren’t you absolutely losing your fucking mind, or am I just the only one?”

With the sheet peeled back, Kalani could see it. She saw it right away.

Lea continued. “Or are you just getting used to it? Are you? You are. I think you are.

“No,” Kalani said quietly, studying and staring at a little spot of gray on her sister’s nightshirt. That strange little spot.

“You are, Kalani.” Lea laughed and the spot moved with her. “What do they call that? That syndrome? China syndrome?”

“Stockholm,” Kalani said. “Stockholm Syndrome.”

“Yeah . . . Is that what this is?”

“What is that?” Kalani said, pointing to the little mark on Lea’s nightshirt. “What is that, Lea?”