When I open my eyes again, I’m no longer staring out my loft window at a lightning storm, but at the ceiling of a hospital room. The air reeks of disinfectant and cafeteria food, the beeping of a heart monitor makes my head throb, and my throat feels like it’s on fire.

“Do you want me to get you some water?”

My head whips in the direction of the unfamiliar voice.

A woman a few years older than me is standing beside my bed, jotting something down on a clipboard. She’s wearing scrubs, and her nametag displays “Mia.” Her blonde hair is pulled into a messy bun, and she looks irritated as she waits for me to answer.

“Water would be nice. Thanks.” I cringe at my raspy voice that sounds like I spent an entire night smoking a pack of cigarettes. “What day is it?”

“Wednesday,” she answers, setting the clipboard down on a bedside table.

“Wednesday?” My muscles gripe in protest as I sit up and glance around the small room. There are so many windows, and I can see the nurses and doctors rushing around in the hallway just outside. “I’ve been here for almost two days?”

She nods, picks up a pitcher, and fills a small cup with water. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake.” She hands me the cup then collects the clipboard and heads for the door.

“Wait!” I call out. “Can you tell me how I got here?”

She stops in the doorway and turns, her brows elevated. “You don’t remember?”

I rack my brain, bits and pieces gradually coming back to me: a lightning storm, lying in bed, getting fired from my job, the blood on my hands … that night … being exhausted and disappointed in myself, wanting the pain and heaviness to go away, wanting to forget everything. Then there was writing my confession on the mirror, the pills … the darkness … bright lights … throwing up, the paramedics showing up at my loft, the doctor telling me I have to stay in the hospital for forty-eight hours so they can evaluate my mental stability.

“Oh, God,” I groan. The rhythm of the heart monitor quickens as guilt, fear, and disappointment crash over me like waves colliding with the shore.

The nurse casts a worried glance at the monitor. “I’ll get the doctor. After he checks in on you, if you feel up to it, you can have a few visitors.”

“I won’t be having any visitors. I don’t have … anyone.” I may feel alone right now, but I’m not about to call any of my siblings and drag them into this mess. I did this to myself. I can deal with this by myself. That will be my punishment for what I’ve done.

“What about your brother?” The nurse glances down at her clipboard. “Loki Baker?”

Confusion swirls in my mind. “Wait. Did you guys call him?”

She shakes her head, her confusion mirroring mine. “He arrived last night when you were asleep. He came in for a little while, but he had to leave after visiting hours were over. He said he’d be back today.”

Loki is here? Oh, God, I think I’m going to throw up.

“How did he find out I was here?”

“Maybe your landlord called him? Or one of your neighbors who saw the paramedics come in?” she offers with a shrug. “Look, I need to get the doctor, and then I have other patients to check up on. If you want to find out how your brother knew you were here, you can always just ask him.” She walks out of the room without waiting for me to respond.

I slump back and take a long sip of the water, letting the coolness soothe my aching throat.

Loki is here. Loki knows what I did. Well, at least the pills part. He doesn’t know about Cole and Nolan, about that night, about Zoe. Well, unless the paramedics saw my confession on the mirror.

Nausea burns in the pit of my stomach as I peer through the window and into the hallway. I don’t see any uniformed cops out there and I’m not handcuffed to a bed. Does that mean the paramedics didn’t tell the police about the confession on the mirror? Or did no one see it?

A few tears slip from my eyes as I massage my aching chest. The weight is there, heavier than ever, as new memories of that night choke me …

“Please let us go,” Zoe cries from beside me, her shoulders heaving as she draws her knees to her chest.

I reach out to grab her hand, but Nolan grabs my wrists and forces my arms behind my back.

“No touching,” he warns as he binds my wrists together with a rope. “Not until we play the game.”

“Game?” Zoe sobs, tears streaming down her cheeks. “What game?”

Nolan moves in front of her and gets in her face. “The game where one of you lives and the other dies.”

I continue to cry until I realize how easily people in the hallway can see into my room. A nurse keeps glancing in, probably checking on me. I hurriedly wipe the tears away with the back of my hand then focus on drinking the water. That’s easy to do, and right now, I need easy. Otherwise, I’m going to lose my shit.

Eventually, the doctor comes in and questions how I’m feeling. Then he informs me that I have to speak to a therapist before I can leave.

“But if everything goes okay,” he says as he distractedly reads through the papers on the clipboard, “you should be able to go home tomorrow morning.”

I nod. Home. What home? Jail? Because, if I can’t come up with some sort of proof that I didn’t hurt Zoe, that’s where my permanent residency is going to be.

After the doctor leaves, Nurse Mia pops back in.

“You think you’re up for visitors now?” she asks, refilling my water.

No. But I nod, anyway.

“Good. I’ll send your brother in.” She checks the monitor and my IV bag then makes a few notes on my chart. “Everything looks good.” She walks out, leaving me alone again.

For the next five minutes, I mentally prepare myself for what I’m going to say to Loki, but when he enters the room, my preparation flies out the window as my mind blanks.

Less than a year has passed since the last time I saw him, but he looks different, older. His button-down shirt and jeans are wrinkled, his face is unshaven, and his brown hair is sticking up all over the place—I’m sure from raking his fingers through the strands.

Our dad used to do the same thing whenever he was stressed. About a year before he died, his hair was starting to thin. I wonder if Loki will be the same way. I wonder what Dad would have said to me if he were here. I wonder if I would have confessed to him what I think I might have done.

“You look tired,” I say, noting the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes.

Loki lingers in the doorway, worriedly eyeing me over. “So do you.”

We stare at each other for a beat, the silence building, a brick wall forming around us.

Finally, he strides up to my bed and clasps my hand. “Why didn’t you tell me how hard it was getting for you? I could’ve done something. I should’ve done something.”

“It’s not that simple.” I stare at the clock on the wall, watching the second hand tick. “And I didn’t want to worry anyone.”

He lets go of my hand and sinks into a chair beside my bed. “Mom and Dad left me in charge. It’s my job to worry about you guys. You need to realize that.”

I keep my attention on the wall clock as tears threaten to pour out. Only a minute has gone by. Only one single minute, yet it feels like an eternity of time is moving past me while I remain motionless.

“No, it’s your job to worry about Nikoli, Alexis, Zhara, and Annabella. I’m twenty years old and should be able to take care of myself. I’m not your responsibility or anyone else’s.” I dance around the truth, the real reason I swallowed down those pills.

But deep down, I know it’s eventually going to catch up with me, either from the message on the mirror, my own guilt, or Cole and Nolan telling the police.

“You really believe you should just deal with this on your own?” Loki asks, hurt.

I nod. “My problems don’t need to be your problems.”

“If Mom and Dad were here, you’d talk to them,” he utters quietly, seeming to read my mind. “You should be able to talk to me.”

“Loki, you’re only two years older than me … Mom and Dad never expected you to take care of me.” I fight back the tears as I stare at that damn clock. “If anything, they probably expected me to move home and help you raise the kids.” I should’ve. I really should’ve. Then I wouldn’t be in this mess.

He swiftly shakes his head. “They didn’t expect you to move back after the accident. In the will, Mom and Dad said they wanted me—”

“I know what the will said.” My eyelashes flutter as I blink back tears. “But I know Mom and Dad. If they were in my shoes right now, they would’ve moved back home to help you.”

He shakes his head determinedly. “They wanted you to finish school. They talked about it all the time. They were so proud of you and everything you accomplished.”

“They wouldn’t be if they knew everything.” I break down, sobbing. “I fucked up so badly, Loki. You don’t even know.”

He places his hand over mine, and even though I don’t deserve it, I grip it tightly.

“Then tell me.” He squeezes my hand. “Help me understand.”

I choke back the tears. “I don’t think I can … It’s too terrible.”

“Jessa, this is me. I won’t judge you. I’ve done some messed up shit in my past. You know that.”

“Yeah, but it’s different now … You’re different.”

“I might be different, but I still won’t judge you.” He frowns. “You think I would?”

If he knew the truth, he wouldn’t say that.

No, there’s no way I can tell him what I might have done to Zoe. But I have to tell him something. So, I tell him about getting kicked out of school, losing my job, and how I am just so tired of everything.

“I wish you would’ve told me you were going through this,” he says after I finish.

“I didn’t want to worry you.” I wipe the tears from my eyes and sniffle. “I should be able to take care of myself.”

“Everyone needs help once in a while. Even I do.” His frown deepens, but he hastily shakes the look away. “I want you to come home with me.” He puts on a no-nonsense expression. “I think it might be good for you.”

“I’m not going to go home so you can keep an eye on me.” I want to, but I can’t put my problems on him. “I won’t do that to you.” I reach for the cup of water on the bedside table.

He tugs his fingers through his hair, his gaze skimming the hospital room. “I can’t let you end up here again. And I know you don’t want to hear this, but I think you might need some help. Maybe even therapy.”

“I’m not crazy,” I whisper. Am I? Taking a life, even to save your own … That’s crazy, right?

How can you know for sure you did it? All you have to go by is what Nolan and Cole messaged you and the clips of broken images you remember from that night.

But you had blood on your hands and clothes in that photo. If you’re innocent, how did it get there?

I release a shaky breath. “I just … didn’t know how to handle everything. It was all so … overwhelming.”

“I know you’re not crazy. I also know this can’t just be tossed aside.” His voice drops to a solemn tone. “If Mom and Dad were here right now, you know they’d ask you to come home, too, even if it was just until you got back on your feet.”

I focus on taking a long sip of water, giving myself time to put together a response.

Going home means risking the possibility of my other brother and sisters finding out that I almost gave up and put them through hell again. Plus, they could find out my secret.

They’ll hate me. And for a good reason.

I stare at the cup in my hands. “Who’s watching Alexis, Nik, and Zhara? Is Anna?”

“No, Easton is.” He reclines in the chair. “You remember him, right?”

“Of course I do. He’s your friend you used to get high with in the garage.”

“He’s not like that anymore. Just like I’m not … I almost left Anna in charge. She’s doing better and everything, but I didn’t think it was a good idea when I was flying out of the country and won’t be close by in case something happens.” He props his foot on his knee. “I did leave her in charge of the store, though.”

“Do any of them know about this? That I tried to …” I falter, unable to say the words out loud.

He shakes his head. “And I won’t tell them if you don’t want me to.” He leans forward, placing a hand over mine. “Come home with me. Let us help you.”

I close my eyes as I suck in a sharp inhale, recollecting the helpless feeling before I took the pills and then afterward. I don’t ever want to feel that way again, yet I’m unsure how to make that happen. I need to find a way to figure stuff out, to move past that terrible night that started my tumble into a seemingly bottomless abyss. Maybe going home with him is the best thing right now. It would get me away from Cole and Nolan until I can figure out exactly what happened that night. Besides, I don’t really have a choice. I won’t have a place to live soon since I lost my job, and now that I’m not in school, there’s no reason to stay in London.

Shame and disappointment threaten to strangle me, but I bottle it down the best I can or else I’ll burst into tears again.

“All right, I’ll go home with you,” I whisper hoarsely, feeling as though I’m doing something awful.

God, what am I doing? I’m bringing them into this mess.

Yes, you are. But this is who you are, isn’t it?

The voice in my head isn’t my own, and I tense at the loudness of it.

The tension visibly loosens in Loki’s shoulders. “Good. I’m glad you made this easy. I spent the entire plane ride planning a speech if you said no.”

“What was the speech about?”

“I’d honestly rather not tell you. You know I suck at giving speeches. I’m just glad you’re coming home.” He chokes up. “When Milo called and told me what was going on, I thought—”

“Milo?” I sit up, ignoring the dizziness sloshing through my head. “Why did Milo call you?”

“Because you called him right after you took the pills.” His brows knit. “Don’t you remember?”

“I didn’t know who I called. I just pushed one of my contact numbers.”

I press my hand to my throbbing forehead. Shit. Shit. Shit. Why, out of all people, did I dial Milo’s number?

Besides from the funeral, I haven’t spoken to him since I stomped all over his heart. The pain in his eyes when we parted ways that night still haunts me to this day. And then I called him and forced him into this shitty mess that’s my life?

I’m the worst person ever.

“Milo’s a good guy.” Loki misreads my worry. “I’m sure he won’t tell anyone.”

“I know he won’t.” After all, he never told anyone about my little storm ability. “Did you call and tell him I’m all right?”

“Yeah, I did.” He pauses. “You should probably talk to him when you feel up to it. He’s really worried about you.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Just thinking about being close to Milo has my stomach winding into nervous knots. He knows me so well, so well he might be able to see that something awful is haunting me.

“Just think about it.” Loki pushes to his feet. “I’m going to find the doctor and see how much longer you have to stay here. Then I can book us a flight back. If you want, I can go to your loft and start packing up your stuff. Or I can stay here if you need me to.”

“There’s not that much to pack,” I say, mostly because I don’t want him going to that place. Not with my confession still scribbled on the mirror in red lipstick. “I don’t think I have the key on me.”

“I’ll stay here, then,” he says, rubbing his weary eyes. “Just let me go talk to the doctor for a moment.”

“Thanks,” I mutter as he walks out of the room.

Once he’s gone, tears begin to fill my eyes again. I’m not sure I made the right choice by agreeing to go back home with him. Not to mention I have no clue if anyone found my message, if Cole and Nolan are still threatening me, and if perhaps Zoe turned up.

The latter is probably wishful thinking, but I want the wish to come true more than anything.

“Man, you look terrible.”

The sound of the slightly familiar voice startles me from my thoughts. My head snaps up, my gaze darting to a guy dressed head to toe in black, standing in the doorway.

“Zane?”

Shit. While I’m not positive, there’s a good chance he might be working for the police, which means he could be here to arrest me.

“Aw, you remember my name. I’m touched.” A smile curls at his lips as he ambles across the room and stops at the side of my bed. “Did you know they’ve got you on lockdown? It was a pain in the ass to get in here.” He winks at me, but concern fills his eyes. “It’s a good thing I have connections.”

“What sort of connections?” I ask nervously. “With the police? Or are you a police officer?”

His brow quirks. “Do I look like a police officer?”

“No, but maybe you’re working undercover.”

Amusement dances in his eyes. “I’m always working undercover, but not for the police.”

My brows pull together. “That makes no sense.”

“It would if I was talking to Madelynn and not Jessa,” he mumbles.

The hair on my arms stands on end. “What the hell does that mean?”

He dismisses me with a wave, glancing at the heart monitor, the frantic beeps announcing my nerves. “You’re nervous.”

“No,” I lie. “I’m just doped up on medication.”

“That would make you calm, not amped up.” He turns toward me and crosses his arms. “You didn’t do it.”

I blink. “Do what?”

He unfolds his arms, leans forward, and rests his hands on the side of my bed. “Kill Zoe.”

I swallow hard, my heart beating wildly, something the monitor makes painfully obvious. “Who said I did?”

“The message on your mirror.” His voice lowers, his breath tickling my cheek. “Don’t worry; I erased it before anyone saw.”

“W-why?”

“Let’s just say I wanted to do you a favor.”

None of this is making sense. Nothing has for weeks now.

“Why were you even at my loft?” I whisper, my heart thundering in my chest

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you,” he says simply, as if he didn’t just admit he’s been stalking me.

“In a stalker sort of way or because you’re working undercover?” I’m uncertain which answer scares me the most.

“Maybe a little bit of both.” He dips his head toward my ear, his breath dusting across my skin. “You need to return to Honeyton. Don’t respond to Cole and Nolan’s messages, and tell no one of that night. I’ll be in touch soon.” He backs away toward the door. “See you later, Madelynn.”

The way he says my middle name pulls at my mind, as if a forgotten memory is desperately trying to resurface but can’t quite get there.

“Wait, who the hell are you?” I call out. “And what do you know about …?” I trail off as he disappears out the door, leaving my head crammed with a bunch of questions and a little bit of hope.

Hope that perhaps he was telling the truth.

That I didn’t kill Zoe.