The next day, I am determined to get into that damn trunk. The voice in my head screams at me to discover what’s inside. My plan is to pick the lock again, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll find some bolt cutters.

Heading downstairs, my phone buzzes from inside my pocket, reminding me of another problem I still need to deal with.

Unknown: Are you ready to start playing the game again, Madelynn? I’d think about your answer really carefully, or that photo is going to go public soon.

My fingers tremble as I start to type a reply, still undecided over what to say. Then I hurriedly put my phone away as Loki walks in to tell me he’s leaving for the party.

“Are you sure you can handle this?” he asks for the millionth time as he laces up his sneakers.

“We’ll be fine.” I shoo him toward the front door. “They’re just a couple of teenagers, for God’s sake. What can possibly go wrong?”

Worry flashes across his face. “The fact that you have to ask that means a lot can go wrong.”

I put my hair into a messy ponytail. “It’s only for a few hours, and you’ll be, like, a few miles away. If I need you, I’ll call.” I draw an X across my heart. “I promise.”

“Fine.” He reluctantly collects the car keys off the foyer table then turns for the door. “But if you need anything—anything at all—call me.”

I nod. Good God, he’s a pain in the ass to get out of the house.

He dithers for another handful of seconds before opening the door.

I blow out a breath of relief and start backtracking for the kitchen to start on the brownies Zhara begged me to bake.

“Oh, and Jessa?” Loki says.

I turn around. “Yeah?”

He glances from the stairs to the living room then steps toward me with hesitancy written all over his face. “I made you an appointment for Wednesday,” he says quietly. “I hope that’s okay.”

“Oh … Yeah, that’s fine. Thanks … for doing that.”

“It’s not a problem. I’m just glad you agreed to talk to someone.” He backs toward the door again. “I’ll be back by six, okay?”

“Stop being such an old man,” I tell him. “Stay out at least until the sun goes down, for crying out loud.”

He waves me off then hurries out the door.

“Good grief. Is he always like that?” I ask Zhara when I find her in the kitchen.

“No. Usually, he doesn’t go out.” She picks up the butter and returns it to the fridge. “I’m glad you convinced him to go. He needs to get out more.”

I set the mixing bowl on the counter. “Hmmm … Sounds like someone else I know.”

“I go out sometimes,” she whispers to the open fridge. “But I like to help take care of stuff, too. I don’t know why everyone thinks that’s weird.”

I step up beside her and wrap my arms around her. “It’s okay if you like to help, but you do need to have some fun. Trust me; life goes by so much more quickly than you think. I don’t want you looking back at your life and wishing you’d done things differently.” I give her a big hug then move away before I start bawling.

I can’t get that text out of my mind. What did he mean by: Are you ready to start playing the game again? Is that a threat? A threat for what?

I should tell someone what’s going on. Someone I can trust. But definitely not any of my siblings. I will never burden them with this.

Zhara turns to face me. “Do you wish you could’ve done things differently?”

I nearly choke as I nod.

Her brows draw together. “Like, with what?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. When she stares at me expectantly, I rack my mind for something to tell her that doesn’t have to do with that night. “I guess, I wish I’d stayed in touch with my friends more.”

“You can still get in touch with them. I see some of them around sometimes. Like Milo. He actually came here when Anna’s crazy ex-boyfriend broke into the house and we had to call the cops.”

“Yeah, Anna told me about that.” Not wanting to go down the Milo road, I busy myself with pouring the batter in the baking dish and setting it in the oven. “The brownies should be done in a few minutes.” I grab a paper towel and wipe down the countertops. “I was thinking, before we take Nik to the game, we can go get something to eat. I’d cook, but I don’t think we have time.” And then, when we get back, I’m getting into that trunk. The desire to see what’s inside grows by the second.

You know what’s in there, don’t you? You can feel it in your bones.

“Jessa, are you sure you’re okay?” She watches me as I scrub down the kitchen like someone trying to clean their problems away. “You seem … I don’t know—”

The sound of glass shattering cuts her off.

Her eyes widen. “What was that?”

“I don’t know. It sounded like it came from upstairs.” I drop the paper towel and run for the stairs with Zhara on my heels.

Oh, my God, what if they’re here? What if they came to my house!

How could I have done this to my family!

When I get to the upstairs hallway, I find Nik standing in front of his bedroom doorway, his face pale.

“What happened?” I ask, striding toward him.

“I-I didn’t mean to,” he sputters, casting a panicked glance into his room. “I was just throwing the ball around and … it slipped out of my hands.”

I nudge him aside and hurry into his room. The window along the far back wall is shattered, broken glass scattered all over the floor and his bed.

“I’m so sorry, Jessa,” Nik says. “I promise it was an accident.”

“It’s okay.” I completely mean my words. “It could be worse.” Way, way worse.

I think I need to leave; go live someplace else until I can figure out a way out of this mess.

Zhara frowns at the fragments of glass on the carpet. “But there’s so much glass everywhere. And we don’t have a window anymore.”

“The glass can be cleaned up, and the window can be fixed,” I say with a shrug. “See? No harm, no foul.”

Zhara inches forward and peers out the broken window at the cloudy sky. “It looks like it’s going to rain.”

Rain. Rain. Rain.

No!

“We need to get a piece of cardboard, tape it up, and then call someone to come fix the window.” Surprisingly, my voice comes out even.

Zhara chews on her bottom lip. “If it rains, it could seep through the cardboard.”

“Okay, then we’ll use some plastic.” I pat her shoulder. “I can totally handle this.” On the outside, I’m calm as a sunny day. On the inside, I’m a trembling mess.

The scent of rain laces the air. A storm could be coming. And the last time that happened …

I nearly choke on the thought.

That message is a warning. Something bad is going to happen again.

“Maybe we should call Loki and see what he wants us to do,” Zhara suggests.

I shake my head, trying to focus past my worries. “No way. Then he’ll try to come home.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” She hops over the glass on the carpet, moving away from the window. “I think there might be a roll of plastic in the garage leftover from when Loki was going to paint the living room.”

“I’ll get it,” Nik offers, backing toward the door.

I bend down to start picking up the glass. “Grab the staple gun, too. And a garbage bag—”

The smoke detectors cut me off, startling the shit out of me, as the noise of sirens send a memory pulsating through me.

“Are you ready to play the game!” a deep voice reverberates around me.

A crowd of cheers follow.

“Are you ready for The Unveiling!” the deep voice shouts even louder.

The crowd cheers louder.

My body trembles as I try to squint through the blindfold. All I can see is the flickering of lights.

My skin dampens with sweat as I turn in a circle, my heart thrashing to get out of my chest.

What’s going on?

Where am I?

What’s about to happen?

“Then let’s bring them out!” the deep voice yells excitedly. “Everyone cheer for the experimental drug subjects! Their skills are going to blow your mind!”

The crowd erupts with enthusiasm as a siren blares …

I blink back to reality and cover my ears.

Skills?

Experimental drug subjects?

My mind travels to the photo I found in my parents’ closet of me standing in front of a warehouse. A warehouse that was used to make illegal, experimental drugs.

What the hell happened to me?

I lower my hands from my ears and examine my arms, searching for signs of … Well, I’m not quite sure yet. That I’m messed up? That I was doped up?

Everything about me appears physically normal.

Nik throws his hands over his ears and shouts, “Why the hell are they going off?”

“Jessa, the brownies!” Zhara cries over the shrieking.

Shit!

I shove Nik aside, race down the stairs, and run into the kitchen.

Smoke laces the air from a small fire on the burner, remnants of a paper towel lying in its midst.

“Shit.” I quickly turn off the burner, grab the fire extinguisher from under the sink, and douse the flames.

“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry!” Zhara sputters, rushing into the kitchen. “I must have left the burner on when I was melting the butter.”

“It’s okay.” I fan a dishrag in front of the smoke detector near the oven. “I’m the one who threw the paper towel on it!” I continue to wave the dishrag back and forth, but it won’t turn off. “Man, these things are temperamental.”

“I’ll open some windows.” Zhara leans over the sink and throws open the window.

“The house alarm’s going off, too,” Nik announces as he enters the kitchen with his hands over his ears. “I can’t get it to turn off.”

I set down the dishrag and hurry toward the foyer, wanting nothing more than to turn off the damn alarm and shut the damn memories off that are piercing my brain.

Wanna play a game?

Wanna play a game?

Do you know what you are?

“Why’s the house alarm going off?” I whisper shakily as my skin coats with sweat.

“I think it came with a fire alarm built in or something!” Nik shouts over the noise

I open the alarm box on the wall and frown. “What’s the password?”

“I already punched it in, but it won’t turn off. You can try again, though, I guess.” He yammers off the code to me.

“Maybe we should call Loki.” Zhara flips on the ceiling fan as she walks into the foyer. “He might have to call someone to get it turned off.”

“We’re not calling Loki.” I push the code, but the alarm continues to screech like a wild banshee. “Crap. Crap. Crap.” I press my fingers to the brim of my nose. Get your shit together, Jessa. You can’t fall apart in front of them.

But as the alarm continues to blare, my head pulsates with images, about to explode.

The longer the shrill screeching echoes throughout the house, the more my head throbs. Anxiety clutches my throat, and my chest tightens, making it difficult to breathe. I want to scream for help, but I don’t want to freak out Zhara and Nik.

“Kill her! Kill her!” the crowd chants.

Tears sting my eyes.

I’m losing it. I’m going crazy.

I’m just about to admit defeat and call Loki when the doorbell rings.

“Maybe that’s the fire department,” Nik says, running toward the door. “I bet they can tell us how to turn the alarm off.”

I follow him. “It’s probably just a neighbor wondering what the hell’s going on …” I trail off as Nik throws open the door.

Milo stands on the front porch with a concerned look on his face.

Not who I was expecting, but I’m glad he’s here. Why is he even here? Because of the alarm going off? Did the alarm company send the cops? I doubt it since he’s not dressed in his uniform, but a fitted grey T-shirt and black board shorts that look really good on him. He’s also holding a giant red platter full of pastries.

“Is something on fire?” he asks, his gaze darting past Nik and me and into the house.

“The stove was, but we put it out.” I swing my arm in the direction of the house alarm. “Apparently, the alarm doesn’t seem to realize that, though. We can’t get the thing to turn off.”

His gaze locks on mine. “Mind if I look?”

I shove aside our last awkward encounter, reach for the bottom of his shirt, and tug him inside. “Yes, please, please, pretty please look at it. I feel like my head’s about to explode.”

Chuckling, he hands me the platter then leans down to examine the alarm. He pushes a couple buttons then glances at me. “I’m guessing you entered the passcode already?”

Nodding, I set the platter down on the end table and step up beside him. “But it still won’t turn off.”

“Did you call the company?” he asks, tapping his finger against a phone number on the alarm. “You might have to reset it with them.”

“Milo, you’re a genius.” I fish my phone out of my back pocket.

“Don’t get too excited.” He reclines against the wall with his arms folded. “You’ll probably have to give them another password, the one linked to the account. Do you know it?”

“No.” I look at Nik for help. “Do you?”

He shakes his head. “Maybe you can call Loki and ask.”

“We’re not calling Loki. We can handle this,” I repeat loudly over the alarm as I punch in the phone number. “I’m going to call and try.”

Milo turns out to be right. The operator asks me for the main password linked to the account, but I have no clue what it is.

“Here, give me the phone.” Zhara appears by my side, making grabby hands.

I hand over the phone, and she wanders into the kitchen as she chats with the operator. A minute later, the house goes silent.

I let out a relieved sigh as the yelling in my mind quiets, as well. “Oh, my God, I’ve never been so happy to hear the quiet.”

“My ears are still ringing.” Nik plugs his nose, attempting to pop his ears.

“There. Problem solved.” Zhara beams as she returns to the foyer, handing my phone back.

I slip the phone into my back pocket. “How’d you guess the password?”

She smiles proudly. “I asked them what the hint was, and the answer was pretty easy to guess.”

I give her a curious look. “Why? What was the hint?”

She cups her hand around her mouth and leans in. “What’s your oldest sister’s middle name?”

The photo I found in my parents’ stuff creeps into my mind. According to that, my middle name was Jessamine, but I’ve always gone by Jessamine Madelynn.

“I’m going to get him to pick a better one,” Zhara adds. “Madelynn is way too easy.”

Well, at least she seems to know my middle name is Madelynn. Apparently, my parents forgot at some point.

I fan the smoky air from my face. “Well, hopefully, we won’t need to use it again.”

“You said the stove started the fire?” Milo asks with amusement twinkling in his eyes. “How’d that happen under your supervision? You used to be so strict with anyone who tried to help you cook.”

“She’s the one who did it,” Zhara explains, opening another window.

Milo cocks a brow at me. “Really? Jessamine Baker burned something?” A smug grin breaks across his face. “Man, I’ve been waiting for that to happen ever since I burned those cookies I helped you make, and you gave me a very long, very boring lecture on the proper way to bake cookies.”

I lightly swat his arm. “Hey, I was trying to help you not burn the rest of the batches.”

He chuckles, shuffling back out of arm’s reach. “All your lecture did was make me never want to help you bake again. Seriously, I almost fell asleep standing up.”

I narrow my eyes at him, pretending to be annoyed. “FYI, I didn’t burn any food.” I point over my shoulder at the kitchen. “The fire started because I threw a paper towel on the burner.” I square my shoulders and plaster on a cocky smile. “I’m way too good of a cook to burn food.”

A smile lights up his face. “I remember. Your cheesecake was my favorite. Seriously. No one can make it like you.”

“Well, maybe if you’re lucky and really nice to me, I just might make one for you while I’m here.” I smile, but the movement feels wrong. As if I don’t deserve to smile

You don’t.

Milo doesn’t seem to notice my uneasiness, which is strange. The old Milo would have.

“Nice, huh?” He rubs his jaw musingly. “I don’t know. That sounds a little overpriced for some cheesecake.”

“Whatever. You’re so going to do it,” I tease, my light tone forced. But I can’t let them see—any of them—the mess that’s going on inside me. “You love my cheesecake.”

“Do I?” He grins, but then the smile vanishes as his brows dip. Then he hastily clears his throat. “But, yeah, I just came over to give you this.” He picks up the platter piled with sweet treats and practically shoves it into my arms. “My mom actually put it together and told me to bring it over as a welcome back to the neighborhood.”

“Okay …?” Puzzlement etches through me. Like I noted when I saw him at the gas station, he seems different. More serious. More … Well, I hate to admit it, but he seems like he doesn’t want to be friendly with me. Smart guy. “Tell her thanks.”

He nods, backing toward the door with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his shorts. “All right, I will.”

I consider letting him leave without saying anything else, just letting him go like he seems to want. It would probably be easier and better for him. But the thing is, I really want him to stay. I want to talk to him longer. I want to tell him what’s been going on. But then there’s that voice, that voice in my head warning me not to tell anyone. That if I do, I’ll die. That he’s a fucking cop.

What am I going to do?

What can I do?

Who can I tell?

As I dither back and forth, my phone vibrates in my pocket, a warning from unknown that I’m running out of time. Distracted by my worries, I hand Nik the platter of goodies and tell him and Zhara to go put them in the kitchen. Then I walk Milo to the door, conflicted and on the brink of losing what little sanity I have left.

Tell him.

Don’t tell him.

Tell him.

Don’t tell him.

“Do you have to be somewhere right now?” I ask, fidgeting with the leather bracelet on my wrist.

He massages the back of his neck, throwing an almost panicked glance at the door, like he wants nothing more than to bolt. “I’m supposed to have dinner with some … friends tonight.”

“Cop friends?”

He wavers, seeming uneasy. “Nah, just some friends I went to high school with.”

It seems odd he doesn’t say friends we went to high school with.

“That’s cool …” I catch his eye, noting how squirrely he’s gotten, something he does whenever he’s lying. “So, where are you living now? With your parents?”

He shakes his head. “No. I live over by the railroad tracks.”

By the railroad tracks is considered the bad side of Honeyton, so I find it a little bizarre that he lives there.

“That’s nice. I mean, I bet it beats living with your mom and her, as she puts it”—I make air quotes—“ ‘fabulous matchmaking skills.’ ”

He rolls his tongue in his mouth, fighting back a grin. “Anything’s better than that. I love her to death, but she’s so nosey sometimes.”

“Remember that one time when you were, like, sixteen and she thought you were dating a girl you wouldn’t tell her about, so she snooped around in your room and tried to find clues, but then you came home while she was doing it.”

“Yeah, I remember. She hid in my closet for over an hour. She was lucky I didn’t do anything but lie down and read.” He shakes his head, the corners of his lips turning upward. “The funny thing was, I wasn’t even dating anyone. She made the whole thing up in her head because I kept coming home a little late after school.”

“Why were you going home late?”

“It was right after that one guy with that funny hair broke up with you. You were having a hard time, so I took you out every day after school, and we did a bunch of crazy stuff to get your mind off things.”

“Oh, yeah.” I lean against the door, musing. “Max with the Mohawk. I forgot about him.”

“More like Max the ass,” Milo says in a clipped tone. “That guy never treated you right.”

“I really have bad judgment when it comes to guys,” I admit shamefully.

“You were young,” he says with a shrug. “Isn’t that part of being young? Making mistakes and learning from them?”

“I guess so,” I mumble. “I just wish I could’ve learned from them sooner.”

His forehead creases as his lips part, questions flooding his eyes.

Not ready to go down that road with Nik and Zhara right in the other room, I say, “So, why a cop?”

Confusion creases his brows. “Huh?”

“I was just wondering why you decided to become a cop. I don’t remember you ever mentioning that being something you wanted to do.” I don’t even know what the point of my question is, other than I want to get to know him, to figure out who this different, squirmy, uneasy Milo standing in front of me is.

“It wasn’t. But things changed. I changed.” He shifts his weight, running his palm over his cropped brown hair. “About a year ago, I was going through some stuff, and I just decided I needed to do something different. So, I got my associates degree, moved back, and started the police academy training program.”

“Are you happy?” I ask quietly. “I mean, do you ever regret it? I know you used to hate living here, and you had all these dreams of getting out and doing something crazy amazing with your life.”

“I’m actually okay with being back in Honeyton, and I do feel like I’m doing something good with my life.” His intense gaze bores into mine. “Things change, Jessa. Sometimes, people end up doing what they dreamed of, and sometimes, you end up finding out what you thought you wanted wasn’t as great at you hoped. It doesn’t mean I gave up my dreams. My dreams just changed.”

“I forgot you could do that,” I utter softly.

“Do what?”

“Make complicated, difficult things sound so easy. It makes me feel weak.”

He swallows hard. “Jessa … about what happened the other night … when you called me … I need to know if you’re okay. I meant to talk to you when I ran into you at the gas station, but there was just”—the warmth in his expression evaporates—“some shit going on. I know it’s not an excuse, but you caught me off guard and at a really bad time.”

“It’s fine.” I hug my arms around myself. “I haven’t talked to you in over a year. I’m not really your responsibility anymore.”

No, you’re not, Jessa. And that’s why you shouldn’t tell him. He’s happy. Leave him out of your shit.

“Hey.” He hooks a finger under my chin and forces me to meet his gaze.

That deep connection I’ve always felt with him returns full force, making it complicated to breathe.

I missed this.

Miss him.

“I never, ever felt like you were a responsibility,” he promises. “You were my friend, and I loved helping you out. You were there for me a lot, too.”

I cringe at the past tense references. We were friends, but not anymore. Nothing is what it is anymore.

I want my old life back.

I want this aching inside to go away.

I want the text messages to stop.

I want Zoe to come back.

I want my old friend Milo back. Maybe I don’t deserve it and maybe it’s wrong, but handling this alone, no matter what the voice inside my head says, might result in me ending up in the hospital again. Can I ask that of Milo? To be my friend again after what I did to him? Is it wrong to bring him into this mess of my life?

I don’t know what to do.

So, I crack a nervous joke, a bad habit of mine when I’m super nervous. “So, you loved helping me out, even when I borrowed your pretty new truck and wrecked it?”

“Okay, maybe not then.” He lowers his finger from my chin, and a warm smile returns, the old, happy Milo I knew reappearing. For a flash of an instant, a calmness washes over me. “Most of the time, I loved doing stuff for you.”

A soft smile touches my lips before shame gnaws at the pit of my stomach, the calmness dissipating. “How can you be so nice to me right now? I’ve been, like, the shittiest friend ever. I mean, I took off and didn’t even call you.”

“It’s fine.” He shrugs, though pain creeps into his tone. “It’s not like we left things on a great note.”

“Yeah, I know … I thought about staying in touch, but you said not to call.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I really didn’t want to talk to you when you first left. It took me a long time to get over what happened.”

I struggle to keep my voice steady. “You’re okay now, though, right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine now.” He almost answers without missing a beat, but that microsecond of a pause makes me question if he’s being truthful.

“I just mean … What I’m trying to say is …” What am I even trying to say? “Do you want to try to be friends again?” Oh, my God, what the hell is wrong with me? “I get it if you don’t. In fact, maybe you shouldn’t.”

“I don’t know if I can be friends with you.” He pauses, seeming to deeply contemplate the decision and making me extremely nervous. Then a huge-ass grin spreads across his face. “I mean, my truck looks so awesome right now. I’d hate to have to replace everything just to be friends with you.”

“Hey, I crashed it one time.” I give his shoulder a light shove, and he laughs as he stumbles into the front door. “You seriously had me worried there for a second.” I cross my arms and stare him down. “And just so you know, the only reason I wrecked your truck is because I suck at driving on snowy roads. I always brake when I shouldn’t.”

“I know. My car was in the shop for a month because of your panicked brake-tapping.” He smiles, but the movement doesn’t look easy for him. “Jessa, if you want to hang out, that’s fine. But I should warn you that there’s some complicated stuff going on in my life right now that I’d rather you not get involved with.”

With me, too, Milo. With me, too.

“Like what?” I ask.

He tensely massages the back of his neck. “Just stuff. I don’t really feel comfortable talking about it.”

“That’s okay. I come with baggage, too.” I open and flex my shaking hand. “As you probably already know.” You just don’t know everything. “It’s pretty bad, too. I feel like I should tell you that.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “Do you want to talk about what happened? I’ve been really worried about you.”

I stare down at my feet. “I can’t talk about it right now with Zhara and Nik around. I haven’t told them what happened yet. I haven’t told anyone, really. I’d like to talk later, though, if you have time and don’t mind listening.” If he agrees, I’m not even certain what I’ll tell him—what my brain will let me tell him. But I should at least try to confide in someone a little bit of the truth. Not all of it, though. I don’t think I can do that. Literally.

“Of course I have time.” Still, he seems hesitant. “Are you going to tell them? Your siblings, I mean … about what happened.”

It takes me a moment to figure out he’s talking about me almost taking my own life and not maybe taking someone else’s. “I don’t know if I should. They’ve been through so much lately. The last thing they need is to find out their sister almost left them.”

He laces his fingers through mine, his hand trembling. “Well, I’m more than happy to talk whenever you want.”

My hand is also shaking in his. “Thanks. Not just for saying that, but for handling that night so well. If it weren’t for you, I don’t know where I’d be right now. Probably not here.”

Milo’s eyes widen. Then, with his free hand, he reaches up and wipes tears from my cheeks. “Please don’t cry. Everything’s going to be okay. I’ll make sure it is. I promise.”

I suck in a startled breath. I didn’t even realize I was crying. “That’s a pretty big promise …” More tears spill from my eyes. “You were always so nice to me. Probably too nice.” I’m cracking apart, rupturing open, about to burst into pieces.

Don’t utter a word, Madelynn.

Don’t you dare.

“I don’t know about that.” He frowns. “Remember those fights we got into?”

“Huh? We got into, like, three fights ever, and they only ever lasted for about an hour.” I sniffle.

“I know, but we were pretty mean to each other for that one hour.”

“You’re such a liar. Our fights were barely fights.”

“I called you a bitch once.”

I snort a laugh through my tears. “When?”

“When you didn’t show up to one of my games after you promised you’d be there.”

My lips part in shock. “I never missed any of your games.”

He holds up a finger. “The final game my senior year, you weren’t there.”

I have to think about it for a moment, and then I suddenly feel like the biggest jerk that’s ever existed. “That’s when I was dating Logan.”

He nods. “You missed a lot of stuff when you were dating Logan.”

That’s because Logan was in college and hated going to high school functions, which was fine; except, he never wanted me to go to them, either. And like a stupid, naive girl, I did whatever he asked because I believed I was falling in love.

“Well, I’m sorry I missed your game,” I tell him truthfully.

I want to hug him, fold my arms around him, and sink inside him. Disappear. Go back to the days when he was my best friend and life was simple.

But life isn’t simple anymore.

Maybe it never really was.

Maybe everything before that night was just the calm before the storm.

From the clips of memories that have been emerging over the past week, I worry that night wasn’t the only time I’ve done something terrible.

Who am I?

That girl standing in front of that warehouse in rags?

The girl with the mixed-up name that half the world seems to get backward?

Milo’s lips start to part to ask who knows what, when Zhara appears at the bottom of the stairs.

“Jessa, I know you’re busy, but”—her gaze briefly flickers to mine and Milo’s interlocked hands, and curiosity crosses her face—“it’s starting to rain, and the window needs to be covered.”

Rain.

Rain.

Rain.

Through all the chaos, I almost forgot about the potential storm blowing in.

I need to take care of the window then text everyone to make sure they stay safe, just in case the little storm turns into a full blown one.

I slip my hand out of Milo’s and turn to Zhara. “Shit. I forgot about that.”

Her tone and smile convey insinuation. “Yeah, you seemed pretty distracted by other stuff.”

I shoot her a warning look as I reach for the doorknob. “I’m heading to the garage now. You and Nik meet me upstairs. I’m going to need you guys to hold the plastic while I staple it up.”

She nods then jogs up the stairs.

“Is everything okay?” Milo asks from right behind me.

I open the door and frown at the rain splattering against the ground. Memories of that night wash over me like a river, and I nearly collapse.

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” I shudder as a bolt of lightning flashes across the sky. “Nik just broke a window, and I need to put some plastic over it.”

You can do this. You can do this. Just run out there and get the damn plastic. Then check the Weather Channel and see if you need to start texting everyone you know.

I inch forward, but then jerk back as thunder booms.

“Let’s play a little game, Madelynn. Starting with you telling me when the next storm is.”

I blink from the memory. Huh? Why did he think I could predict storms?

Milo folds his fingers around my arm, causing me to flinch.

“Relax.” He gently draws me back into the house. “I’ll get the plastic. You wait here.”

“Are you sure?” I eyeball the rain. “You’re going to get wet.”

“I’m fine.” He leans in, puts his lips beside my ear, and lowers his voice. “I remember how much you hate storms.”

I don’t know what overcomes me. If perhaps I’ve lost my mind or if his nearness brings too much warmth, heating the constant coldness that’s been living inside me. Whatever it is, before I can even think about what I’m doing, I press my lips to his.

He stiffens for a raindrop of a second before he starts kissing me back, our tongues tangling together as he moves his hands up and down my sides. Then we both groan in unison as he spreads his palms across my lower back and presses me closer to deepen the kiss.

As quickly as the kiss started, he pulls away.

“Fuck,” he pants, eyes wild with panic.

I open my lips to sputter an apology when he dips and kisses me deeply, breathlessly. My toes curl as I melt into the kiss, clutching the front of his shirt.

I can’t think. Can barely breathe. And part of me wants to stay this way forever, while the other part screams that this is wrong. That Milo isn’t the person I’m supposed to be kissing.

I shove the doubt aside as he parts my lips with his tongue. I let out a throaty groan as the taste of him floods my senses. Good God, this is what I’ve been missing? This spark. This overwhelming connection, as if we were meant to be right here all along.

This feeling, this blazing, scorching, electric connection makes me regret that night on the tailgate with him even more.

After kissing me breathless, he finally pulls back again, a bit of reservation in his eyes. “That was better than I ever could’ve imagined.”

I start to open my mouth to tell him … well, I’m not sure, when a sleek, black car rolls up to the curb in front of my house. Milo’s eyes enlarge as he spots it, and then he steps outside and hurries over to the car.

The driver’s side door opens and a tall guy with heavily inked arms and short, cropped hair, dressed in black jeans and heavily studded clothes gets out.

The two of them exchange words, and then Milo goes rigid as he turns toward me. When our eyes lock, I immediately know something’s wrong.

Every part of me screams to run, but my feet remain glued to the doorway as Milo and the stranger cross the lawn and approach me. When they reach the stairs, Milo stares at the street instead of me, while the stranger stares at me.

“Madelynn Jessamine,” the tattoo guy says. “It’s so nice to meet you again. It’s been too long.”

“That’s not my name,” I choke out. “And we’ve never met.”

Ignoring me, he reaches into his pocket, digs out a card, and hands it to me. “Your presence is requested at that address tomorrow night for your Reclaiming, Madelynn.”

“Reclaiming …? My name’s not Madelynn.” I stare down at the address on the card. “This is by the railroad tracks.” When I flip over the card, my breath lodges in my throat at the ink staining the black and red stock paper.

“I was told to remind you that if you don’t show up, a certain photo will be turned over to the police.” The stranger looks almost apologetic as he backs away from me. “Tell no one of this.” Then he turns and motions for Milo to follow him.

I look at Milo in confusion. “What’s going on?”

A drop of remorse flickers across his expression before he turns and follows the stranger to the car, leaving me standing there in the rain, utterly stunned and completely terrified.

What’s going on?

What’s happening?

How is Milo a part of this?

I start to back inside the house when I note a silver car parked just a ways down the street. A silver car with extremely tinted windows and a ridiculously long antenna. The car I thought was following us back when we left the airport.

Why the hell would the car be here? Honeyton is a small town. Perhaps it’s just a coincidence.

I rake my fingers through my hair, my mind racing a million miles a minute. “What’s going on? Am I’m losing my mind?”

“It might be better if you were, but unfortunately, you’re completely sane.”

I whirl around at the sound of a familiar male voice, my fear going through the roof.

Standing in the foyer, dressed in the same black attire, is none other than Zane.