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Her lips curl into a slight snarl. “You want the truth?” she says, straightening up to face him. “The thing that’s waiting out there for us has somehow managed to survive in this mountain for lifetimes. We’ve barely managed to survive a few hours with it, and that’s not counting the three people who are already dead.”

She juts her thumb in front of them, where the bloody tablecloth covers Billy’s eviscerated arm. Thomas doesn’t have to try hard to bring Evan’s face to mind as the Mimic’s claws slid through him, before yanking the man into the darkness of the woods, where Officer Whitmore’s own ruined corpse now keeps him company.

Kimi’s posture slouches again as she shakes her head. “We’ve barely managed to survive,” she repeats. “So no. Nothing good comes to mind when I think about how this night ends, Thomas. I guess I left my hopeful, perky attitude at home, but at least we have yours to make up for it.”

She turns her eyes back toward the entrance, jaw and fists clenched tight.

Well, at least I’ve made a friend, Thomas thinks, sighing as he assesses their pitiful group again, though it only causes uneasiness to nettle further at his stomach. If there’s any truth to Kimi’s story about the Mimic, then that means someone amongst them really does have a guilty heart that the monster outside is killing for.

So whose heart is it?

Thomas’s eyes drift over to Jim, where he still has the shotgun slung lazily over his shoulder. The man’s eyes have a vacancy to them that doesn’t seem particularly new as he downs the rest of his beer and belches.

“It would probably help our chances if everyone stayed sober,” Thomas says, thinking anyone who drinks that much is likely doing it to hide or inhibit the worst parts of themselves. “There’s something off about that guy.”

He’s surprised to find that instead of responding with a sharp retort, a sad smile reaches Kimi’s face. It transforms her expression, further erasing some of the intensity so that she seems younger, perhaps only a few years older than him.

“He’s been coming here since my grandmother owned the store,” she admits. “Jim Meadows has his faults, believe me, I know. But he’s also lost more than most people ever do. Grief affects everyone differently, ya know?”

Thomas squeezes his cast hard. He can feel that tether of bright grief that connects him to Jane; no matter how much he has tried to take shears to it, he is chained to the sorrow that seems imprinted in the dark circles beneath her eyes, in the downward corners of her mouth.

“I think for some people it’s like getting struck by lightning,” Kimi continues, watching Jim as he swipes beneath his nose and thumbs at another can of beer. “Then there are others where grief is more like a slow-acting poison.”

“Sounds like you’re familiar with the feeling,” Thomas comments quietly, imagining where his own poison eats away at his insides, savoring the taste.

Kimi fiddles with her necklace again while that small smile flicks at her mouth. “Remember the dead girl Jim was talking about earlier—Billy’s little sister, Grace?”

Thomas only remembers making an asshole comment about it, though he nods anyway.

“She was my best friend,” Kimi says, almost in a whisper. “Growing up, I always just had Ama. And Grace—well, she grew up with all of Billy and Jim’s overbearing, hypermasculine nonsense. So we treated each other like the sisters we always wanted.” Her eyes go glassy as she bites her lip for a moment, like she has to pull the words out from a deep, dark corner inside that has long been closed off.

“We drifted a bit at the end of high school, but I always figured we’d get close again eventually. It always feels like that, like there’s plenty of time.”

Thomas swallows hard, looking over at where Jane sits.

“But even after she was gone, Jim kept looking out for me. He’s like an older brother,” Kimi continues, her face softening further. She follows Thomas’s line of sight. “You’re the older one, right?”

His jaw tightens as he barely nods, suddenly wishing they could go back to ringing silence.

“What’s the age difference?” she asks, just as the feeling begins to come back to his fingers. He flexes them outward, watching as they tremble.

“She’s three years younger,” he answers. “The beloved baby of the family.”

Kimi nods. “That must be nice,” she tells him. “You’re far apart enough to be your own people but close enough to be friends.”

Thomas’s mind drifts to a bright blue sky and the smell of honeysuckle lingering sweet and stubborn against the humid air of a September afternoon—an afternoon he’s shoved so far back in his mind, it’s now taken on a dreamlike quality.

“Or not,” Kimi adds at Thomas’s growing silence.

He knows he should crush the memory in place, that the more he thinks of his life before the accident, the more the numbness seems to spread. But he still remembers the shapes of the clouds as he looked upward that day, oblivious that the sky would soon come crumbling down all around him. He still remembers, and it kills him a little bit more each time.

—

Sweat trickled down his face, stinging his eyes with salt. Thomas swiped it away and readjusted his hat as he fixed his grip for the curveball he was becoming known for. He inhaled deeply, allowing his mind to go completely quiet. He pushed off the pitcher’s mound.

Then someone started booing him.

His muscles uncoiled as he looked toward the bleachers. On the other side of the fence, Jane smiled.