“Are you kidding me, bro?” Davey whines, making it a point to put his lack of enthusiasm way, way out there. “A French château? What kind of girly bullshit trip is this?”

“It’s a wedding.” I adjust the strap on my backpack, making my way through the train station, while trying my best to ignore him. “And you weren’t invited. By all means, stay here in London.”

“To do what? Twiddle my damn thumbs?” He snorts. “No, thank you. You’re not leaving me out of this one.”

“Then quit complaining. And by the way, you look ridiculous in that thing.”

He straightens the ears of his green Yoda beanie. “You didn’t give me time to wash my hair.”

We stop in front of the departures board. I scan it to figure out where we’re supposed to go. Davey stands next to me, wiping his eyes. I booked an early passage, hoping to sneak out while he was still asleep. It didn’t work. He heard me, jumped out of bed, and packed all his crap in under five minutes.

“Hey, did you know Zara is base jumping in Switzerland this weekend?” he asks, yawning. “We still have time to change our tickets.”

I’m busy looking for our train number, but I vaguely hear him going on about an extreme sport I once mentioned. “People die all the time doing that.”

“Since when do you care? The more extreme the sport, the better, remember?”

That was the old me. The post-Evie me. Back when I didn’t care if I lived or died as long as I could get my heart racing again. Being around so many Serras lately has given me a taste of my own mortality though, maybe even a new appreciation for life. Putting on a suit with wings and jumping out of a plane or off of a cliff doesn’t sound as thrilling as it used to.

I clasp Davey’s shoulder. “If you want to go to Switzerland, go. I have other plans.”

He lets out a long, over-the-top groan. “Yes, you told me about your plans to follow the pretty sisters to France. But you never said why. What did you do with my friend? Switch him out for Pepe fucking Le Pew?”

Over this conversation, I walk away, heading off in the direction of the train’s platform.

“I was kidding!” Davey says, chasing after me. “I’ll go to the château, drink fancy wines, and flirt with women. It’ll be great—what did you say this event was again? A family reunion?”

“Something like that,” I mumble.

Which is the exact reason I decided to go. This many Serras in close proximity is nerve-racking. Amelia is already an easy target. I need to be there. I can’t explain it, but I feel like if she’s within my eyesight, everything will be fine.

“What is it about this girl, huh? Usually, you’re one and done.” As we’re walking, he removes a flask from his jacket pocket and takes a swig. “Why chase this girl around the whole damned continent? Plenty of others out there, you know.”

“Shit, Davey,” I hiss. “It’s seven o’clock in the morning.”

He shrugs unapologetically. “I’m still drunk from last night. Besides, you failed to mention you were leaving this early. Which, by the way, kind of makes me feel like you didn’t want me tagging along.”

“And yet, here you are. Tagging along.”

He grins, twisting the lid back on his flask. “Of course, I’m here. I’d never leave my bro hanging.” He slaps me on the back once. “You need me too much.”

“I don’t need you, Davey.”

“It’d be like sending you into a lion’s pit. Those sisters are gorgeous, but they’re lethal. Especially the trigger-happy one with the gun—you could see it in her eyes. She isn’t screwed too tight.”

“You don’t know her,” is all I say. He doesn’t know what Viv has been through. She’s not crazy—she’s terrified out of her goddamn mind. That fear has been propelling her closer and closer to the edge for years. I’m surprised she’s held up as well as she has.

“That’s true, I don’t. How do you know them, by the way? We’ve been friends for a while, and you’ve never mentioned them before.”

A quick glance at Davey tells me he’s genuinely curious. “Our dads are good friends. Mine used to work for theirs. I grew up around their family.”

He nods. “It’s all starting to make sense. The protective instincts. You must think of them like your little sisters.”

I bite back a laugh. Most people don’t want to do the things I want to do to Amelia to their little sisters.

“Hey, this is our platform,” Davey says, distracting me. And it is.

I’ll be damned.

He never even looked up at the departure board, but he’s right. The guy is like a modern-day gypsy. Packs light. Jumps around from place to place. And has the best sense of direction in anyone I’ve ever met.

“They’re already boarding. We should get going.”

“I’ll meet you on board,” Davey says. “I want to grab some breakfast. Maybe a Bloody Mary, if I’m lucky enough to find somewhere that sells them.”

The guy needs more alcohol like a bullet to the head. I don’t know how he functions as well as he does because he’s drunk about ninety-five percent of the time, and when he’s not, he’s almost unbearable to be around. I’ve been telling him to get him help for years, but it’s like talking a brick wall. Most people don’t want to take advice from hypocrites anyway, and aside from the vices, my own life mirrors Davey’s in a lot of ways.

A while later, after I settle into my seat and get my luggage tucked away, Davey enters the cabin, carrying a box of Krispy Kremes, his face contorted into a strange expression. “Hey, this weird kid approached me while I was in line,” he says, shrugging off his duffel bag. “He asked me to give this to you.”

He hands me a crumpled napkin. My stomach tightens before I open it. Unfolding the napkin, I see the writing inside. One short sentence.

You can’t save her.

My heart stops. I immediately grip Davey by the front of his jacket. “Where did the kid go? What did he look like?”

Davey’s brows shoot up. “I don’t know. He had an orange blazer.” He looks over my shoulder. “There! That’s him!” He points to the window.

The kid in the orange blazer weaves through the crowded station. Without wasting time, I run for the exit, then back out into the sea of people, fighting to catch up to the kid. Our train is supposed to leave in minutes, but I don’t care. If I have to, I’ll catch the next one.

I almost lose the kid several times, but then the bright orange flashes, and I dart in its direction. A guy pushing a box cart stops directly in front of me, blocking my path. Up ahead, the orange blazer disappears behind a corner. Using the cart as leverage, I leap over it, almost knocking one of the boxes over in the process.

“Hey—watch it!”

“Sorry!” I yell to the guy pushing the cart, but I keep running. Rounding the corner, I spot him by the bathrooms. He looks about ten or eleven with a mop of blonde hair and a face full of freckles. I grab him the same way I did Davey, by the front of his blazer, shoving the napkin in his face. “Who gave this to you?”

His eyes bulge. “I d-don’t know,” he stutters. He looks around, scanning the crowd.

“Don’t lie to me, kid. Tell me who gave this to you.”

“S-some guy. He had his hood up, and sunglasses on. I couldn’t see his face. Paid me twenty quid to give the napkin to the funny looking guy with the Yoda beanie. He told me to tell him to give it to his friend.”

A woman’s manicured hand yanks my elbow back. “Get your hands off my son!” she shrieks. She grabs hold of the kid, scurrying him away. “Help—security!” she yells, but I hear the kid pleading with her to stop. Probably scared they’ll take his money away.

I run my hand through my hair, sighing. Another fucking dead-end.

This guy has been ballsier than normal, and he keeps getting away with it. This little game of teasing won’t last much longer. Pretty soon, he’ll tire of the cat and mouse routine, and go in for the kill.

That’s what terrifies me the most.