“You said youfeltsomething,” I try again, quieter now. “That’s not nothing, Dora.”

She closes her eyes. Pretends to sleep. I know she’s faking. Her fingers twitch when I speak, and her jaw clenches.

“Fine,” I mutter, grabbing my bag. “Pretend it didn’t happen. Pretend nothing ever does.”

She doesn’t respond.

Typical.

I leave without saying goodbye.

It’s almostdark by the time I hit the sidewalk outside St. Anne’s. The streetlights flicker to life like they’re shaking off sleep. Wind picks up, colder than it should be for late September.

I pull my hoodie tight and keep walking.

I’m not in the mood to go home, and I sure as hell don’t want to see Stefan. He’s texted three times. I haven’t answered. I don’t know what I’d even say.

Hey babe, my sister got mauled by something no one will talk about and I keep dreaming of blood and bones and feeling like my skin doesn’t fit. Wanna grab pizza?

Yeah. No.

I shove my hands in my pockets and keep moving, cutting through backstreets on autopilot. My sneakers scuff against uneven pavement, kicking up gravel. The hum of traffic fades the deeper I go, replaced by the buzz of a broken streetlamp and the occasional dog barking behind fences.

I shouldn’t be out here alone. I know that. But some part of me needs the quiet. Needs the space tobreathe.

I’m halfway down a narrow alley when I feel it.

That prickle.

Like static across the back of my neck. The hairs on my arms lift. My gut flips.

Something’s wrong.

I freeze.

Behind me, a whisper of movement. A scrape of boot on asphalt.

I spin around, heart in my throat.

“Who’s there?”

Nothing.

Then hands are grabbing me.

A body slams me into the brick wall. I cry out, struggle, kick, but whoever it is, they’restrong. Unnaturally strong. A hand clamps over my mouth, pinning me in place. I thrash, panic taking over.

And then I hear him.

Not with my ears.

With myhead.

“Kendall. Stop. It’s me.”

I go still.

His lips don’t move, but the voice ishis. Deep. Familiar. Ragged with urgency.