“I’ll have Riley look into it,” she promised.

Riley.

Riley.

That name was familiar. His voice was familiar. Everything about him was familiar except his face.

I blinked again. Tears clouded my vision. I glanced down at the mug of tea that had somehow appeared before me. I hadn’t even heard or seen Mom go out or come back in. I took the cup between my hands, soaking in the warmth because inside I was cold to the core.

Aggie had been shot. Aggie was dead. I was dead.

Drowning.

The old gunshot wound in my chest flared, and my hands started to tingle.

“Pills,” I repeated, but when I looked around the room, I was alone.

I brought the mug up to my mouth, the steam leaving behind a sheen of warmth. I blew across it and inhaled. Earl Grey with a squirt of lemon.

Lemons.

Secrets.

Shh, Mom had said. This is our little secret.

Voices murmured from the kitchen.

Something was wrong.

Something was wrong.

I pulled my cell from my pocket and texted Chloe. Where are you? I wrote. I need you.

My hands trembled as I typed.

The phone buzzed less than a minute later. I quickly navigated to my settings and shut off the vibrate. For some reason, I didn’t want my mom to know I was talking to anyone. Which was crazy, I realized. It was my phone—I wasn’t a prisoner here. Was I?

Just got coffee. At the park, Chloe replied. Come over if you want. Something happen with Nick?

More than something.

I texted, Can you come pick me up? Meet me on the corner of Bryant and Saxton?

What are you doing way out there?

Please. Can you be here in ten minutes?

I’m leaving now. I’ll be there soon.

“Mom?” I called.

She poked her head through the doorway leading to the kitchen. “Yes, honey?”

I saw her face all those years ago, etched with panic, her life threatened, her daughter held captive. There were no mirrors in the building where I’d been kept, but I’d seen my face reflected in glass and steel enough times to know I had looked like a person held captive. Hollow, haunted eyes rimmed in shadows, face washed out, lips dry and cracked, hair disheveled and limp.

And looking at her now I realized one important detail I’d missed back then. Mom had looked the same way she’d always looked. Shoulders level, head held high, complexion perfect, hair perfect, everything perfect.

She hadn’t looked as fraught as I had. She hadn’t looked like a prisoner.

“Can I use the bathroom?” I asked.

“Third door on the left down the hall.”

I nodded. I got up. The walk to the bathroom seemed to take forever. One foot in front of the other. One inch, two inches, hurry up.

As soon as I was inside the bathroom, door shut and locked, I was a flurry of movement. Hurry.

Hurry.

Hurry.

I turned on the faucet and went to the window. The latch came undone easily enough. There was no screen.

Though the window was small compared to the other windows in the house, I was sure I could fit through.

And I did.

I hit the ground on my shoulder and rolled. My head swam.

Up on my feet.

Run, Aggie had said. I ran.

Lungs burning. Someone yelling. A kid yelling.

Just a kid.

Go. Go. Keep going.

I made it to Jefferson Street and turned left. I didn’t dare look over my shoulder. I was running from my mother. My mother who had been gone for six years and shown up out of nowhere. Who had shown up in my kitchen ten minutes before Aggie was dead. Shot by people ambushing the house. People Nick had fought and shot and killed.

Who were those men and woman dressed all in black like they were ready for combat? They couldn’t have been the Branch, otherwise they wouldn’t have attacked Nick, who my mother had said was working for the Branch.

The Branch.

Riley.

And then I realized how I knew that name. Where I knew that voice from.

In the woods.

The night Nick saved me.

Take care of it, the voice had said. It being me.

Riley was the Branch.

And my mother was a part of it.

Chloe picked me up within ten minutes, as promised. She handed me an iced coffee as soon as I slid in beside her.

“You sounded like you needed one,” she said as she pulled away from the curb.

I took a drink. Even though my stomach swam, my throat was raw, and my tongue was like sandpaper in my mouth. Something cold felt good.

Chloe eyed me. “So what happened? You feel like talking about it?”

I didn’t. I wasn’t even sure how to put it into words. Aggie was dead. My mom was back. And she was working for someone who’d ordered Nick to kill me. Unless… I’d been mistaken?

Nothing made sense. Maybe I’d overreacted. Maybe I had been safe with my mom.

“Not yet,” was what I told Chloe. “I just needed to get out of there.”

“Where was ‘there,’ exactly?”

“It was a friend of my mom’s.”

Chloe went silent for a moment as she turned a corner back toward town. “You never talk about your mom.”

“That’s because there hasn’t ever been anything to say.”

I took another sip of my coffee. The liquid ran cold down my throat.

“So anywhere you want to go?” Chloe asked. “Back home?”

My stomach churned. I couldn’t go back there ever again. It had been the only place where I’d ever felt safe after what had happened six years ago. Now it was painted with Aggie’s blood.