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“No. I was trying to keep this all away from me for twenty-four hours. You see that didn’t work out too well.”

“Wanna check together?”

“Yeah,” she replied decisively. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

I navigated through my inbox to get to the right chat. “Geez,” I muttered. “There are over a hundred new messages.”

“With over sixty people in there? I’m not surprised.”

The group chat was a storm of dark jokes tangled with threats, flirtation that edged on disturbing, inside references I didn’t understand. My name popped up more than once—so did the Nest fight, the locker room incident, and even a few issues other people were having with the Huntsmen.

Some were admitting they’d gotten texts, too. Others were just now realizing how wide this thing was spreading. Someone had created a live countdown for The Hunt.

“Less than 48 hours left,” I mused. “On a scale of 1-10, how bad do you think this is going to go for us?”

Ari let out a breath that sounded more like a laugh, if laughing while walking toward a guillotine counted.

“I think we’ve got it in the bag, actually.”

“Are you serious?”

“If pressuring us with vague taunts and you almost getting dragged into a tunnel is the worst of it, which, for the record, I absolutely do not condone that behavior, then yeah. We can handle it.”

“Brittany was getting the business like a rag doll,” I reminded her. “You know she lied about how that went down, right? Did I tell you guys that?”

“Cade filled us in on our main group chat. That doesn’t sit right with me. Especially since she lied outright. I stand by what I said, though. Will it be easy? Of course not, but we can winthis. We’ve got a few wildcards on our side, and that counts for something.”

I could hear her rustling around. “I’m going to run the numbers again. See if anything new pops.”

I could appreciate her steady optimism. I had some myself, but part of me still believed we were screwed. Dennis hadn’t managed to drag me into that tunnel, but I had the good sense to know someone else could.

“Well, you do that,” I said, already standing and heading toward my desk. “Let me know what you come back with. I’ve got schoolwork to catch up on while we still have a semi-functioning life.”

“Okay, okay. Go be productive. I’ll text you if anything new comes up.”

“Deal.”

I sat cross-legged in the middle of my bed, my laptop balanced on a throw pillow, the screen cluttered with half a dozen open tabs for the essay due Monday, which felt ironically relevant given the way my life was currently unraveling. I hadn’t even looked at the paper due Thursday. That was a problem for future me, assuming the future me survived the week. Instead of doing what I should’ve been doing, I kept getting sucked intoa Reddit thread about Hemlock Heights. Calling it a rabbit hole would be generous.

This was a full-blown descent.

I’d lived here my whole life and never thought twice about the town slogan:Where the whispers of the past guide the present.It had always sounded like something philosophical for our postcards. I hadn’t thought much of the one for Crowsfell either.

I flipped my phone over as it rang beside me, seeing Ashton just now calling again. It was past noon, and I’d heard from everyone else but him. The cheer squad group chat had already checked in—almost each of us was Marked, so everyone was on edge. Kellan and Noah reached out separately. Even Brooke texted me, and I didn’t know she had my number. That brought on a whole slew of awkward feelings.

I had heard nothing from Layla. I would’ve been worried about where she was staying if I weren’t aware of her hanging out with Sarah Myers. Regardless of how rocky our friendship had become, I didn’t want her trapped in the hell that was her home. It had been dead silent from Brittany, too. I’d tried calling and texting her without getting a response.

I debated answering, but Ashton let it ring for a whole four seconds before hanging up. Minutes later, a text buzzed in:

ASH

Hey, tried to call and didn’t get an answer. I tried earlier too. Will try again in a few. Miss you, Angel.

What the hell?

Was he seriously trying to make it look like he’d put in effort without actually doing it? I stared at the message, irritation prickling hotter than it should’ve. Something was going on with him, and this wasn’t me overthinking. He was behaving so outof character, I didn’t know where to begin making sense of it. I could pinpoint exactly when this started, though.

The morning that he admitted to speaking with Sarah.

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