“I’m so sorry,” I tell them. “I didn’t want to keep it from you.”

I go on to explain the entire conversation, relaying everything that Annalise told me, from her belief that she was dying to her saying that I had to let her go. When I’m done, I can see the girls debating whether they would have done the same as me. They must decide it doesn’t matter, because Marcella drops into a squatting position and covers her face to cry, while Brynn wraps her arms around her. Sydney squeezes her eyes closed, palm over her mouth as she holds back her sobs.

I don’t allow myself to cry, feeling at fault for their pain. But then Sydney comes over and grabs me into a hug, crying into my shoulder.

“Our Annalise is gone,” she murmurs. “She’s gone and I don’t think she’s ever coming back.”

I want to say that she will, say it until they believe it. But I’ve already lied to the girls enough tonight.

* * *

The girls and I arrive back at our apartment and stand there. Annalise’s absence is a silence we’ve never known. The air is thick and quiet without her.

We stand there and survey the space, knowing we wouldn’t stay here even if we could. Not without Annalise.

“What’s next?” Brynn asks, her voice raw from crying. “We found the investor, and he’s going to pull his money. Do we tell Leandra?”

“Yes,” I say.

“How do we find her?” Brynn replies. “Wait,” she says, her eyes getting wide. “Do you think Annalise is with her?” she asks.

“No,” I say. “I don’t.” She nods sadly and then goes to her room to begin packing. Marcella follows wordlessly, but Sydney comes to pause next to me, both of us looking at the living room.

“How are you going to find Leandra?” Sydney repeats Brynn’s question.

I look around the room, taking it in, and my gaze falls on the book of poetry. And it suddenly occurs to me. I turn to Sydney.

“Rosemarie knows Leandra, right?” I say. “I mean, she created Leandra. And Quentin saw Leandra taking the girls from the academy. So … what if she really did leave with them? What if she’s bringing them to Rosemarie?”

Sydney takes a moment, but then she nods emphatically. “That might be it,” she says.

“Look,” I say. “I’ll go pick up Lennon Rose from Winston’s house, and then we’ll figure out what to do. In the meantime, you and the girls pack. I’ll call Jackson and see if we can stay with him tonight.”

She sniffs a laugh. “I’m sure he’ll love that.” Then she smiles. “No, but really. I’m sure he will.” Sydney hands me her phone.

“I’ll call you from the road,” I tell her, and then rush outside.

I order a car, and luckily there’s one close by. I give the driver Winston’s address, and he glances in the rearview mirror at me, maybe noticing my still-disheveled state. He doesn’t comment on it.

Using Sydney’s phone, I dial Jackson’s number. After the third ring, his voicemail picks up. At the sound of his voice, I close my eyes. The line beeps.

“Hey, it’s me,” I say softly. “The girls are going to head over your way to stay the night. I hope that’s all right. It’s not safe for us at our place. In the morning, we’re going to find Leandra. I think she and the girls from the academy might be with Rosemarie.” I turn toward the window, feeling self-conscious in front of the driver.

“Anton’s in town,” I add. “Annalise is not. It’s a long story, one I’ll tell you when I get there. But, um …” I shift in the seat, embarrassed.

“I was thinking about earlier … when I tried to kiss you,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have done that, Jackson. I’m sorry I put you in that position. But I also wanted to say, I did want to kiss you. I wanted to know what it was like. I wanted to be closer to you. I understand that you don’t feel the same way. And I understand why.

“Anyway … this is humiliating,” I continue, brushing my hair back from my face. “But I feel like these are the things that needed to be said at the apartment. You deserve better than what I’ve dragged you through. And I’d get it if you wanted to go back to your life, the one you had before you met me in an out-of-the-way gas station.”

I sigh, knowing the recording is about to cut off.

“I think I’m kind of in love with you,” I add quickly. “And it’s okay that you don’t feel the same. But I don’t want you to feel guilty. You’ve done more than enough for me. Too much, if we’re honest.” I laugh.

“Okay, bye,” I say, and hang up abruptly.

I set the phone beside me on the seat, staring at it while I process the things I just said. Well, that was probably a terrible idea.

“Tough break, kid,” the driver says, and I look up to find him watching me in the rearview mirror.

“Thanks,” I reply, slightly mortified. He nods and continues to drive me toward Winston’s house.

The driver drops me off at the gate, and rather than call the house, I hop the fence. The night is quiet as I head toward Winston’s place, but when I turn on his street, my stomach sinks. Raven’s car is parked out front.

I stop beside it, searching the empty interior and confirming that it’s her car. I turn toward Winston’s house.

Raven knows him. Either that, or she came here for his help with Claire. But she would still have to know him to do that. I just … I don’t understand. The lights are blazing inside Winston’s house, and I make my way up the path to the front door.

I don’t knock. Instead, I try the handle and swallow hard when I find it open. I slip inside and check around. It’s quiet, and I close the door softly behind me.

I make my way down the hall toward the back of the house. I pause, wondering if I should look upstairs for Lennon Rose first. But then a murmur of voices in the kitchen catches my attention.

Winston Weeks is talking—sounding pretty heated, in fact. I stand there to listen instead of announcing my presence right away.

“What else did you see?” he demands.

“I told you,” Raven says, and my breath catches. She definitely knows him.

“I saw everything,” Raven continues. “The shit Mena went through at that academy, the incidents at Ridgeview, her connection to the other girls. Winston, she’s advanced far beyond her programming. They all have.”

“And nothing about my mother?” Winston asks, sounding like he doesn’t believe it. “What the fuck is she planning, then?”

“It’s been blocked,” Raven says. “You know that Rosemarie is nothing if not thorough.”

Startled, I straighten. Is it possible that Rosemarie has continued to mess with my programming? Or could she have done something from the start that made it so memories of her didn’t stick?

“Look,” Raven says. “If we ask Lennon Rose, she’ll—”

“Oh, yes,” Winston replies bitterly. “Lennon Rose will be super helpful, I’m sure. Whatever you did to her—” Winston starts, but there is a clatter of ceramic on a counter.

“I told you I didn’t touch Lennon Rose’s programming!” Raven shouts. “It wasn’t me!”