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I close my eyes. “Yeah?”

“If there’s something you’re not telling me, I’d rather hear it from you than find it myself.”

I open my eyes. He doesn’t believe me. Even so, I keep my voice steady. “Good night, Mathias.”

“Good night, Adrien.” The line clicks dead.

I stare at the black screen. That bought me some time, but I know it’s only because it’s me. He wouldn’t let anyone else—apart from his brother—ever lie to him like that and let it go.

I set the phone beside me and stare back toward the dark hallway.

Kamden is alive.

And I’m fulfilling my promise to John.

Those two things are all that matter tonight.

8

Kamden

My bed feels so nice today.

None of the springs are digging into me like usual, and my pillow feels so soft, like a big, fluffy marshmallow.

I’m halfway through falling back asleep when I notice how dry my mouth is. I really wish it wasn’t so I could lie here forever.

My head kind of feels a little funny too, like it’s full of syrup. Everything is sticky and sweet.

My hand brushes against something furry. Oh, it’s my rabbit. How did he get into my bed? He stays in the closet so no one hurts him. I should wake up so no one catches him out here.

It’s just… I don’t think my body wants to be up yet. I’m so… comfy.

But I need to drink some water, and I need to put my rabbit away. Maybe I’ll just go do those two things, and then come back to bed. It has to be early if Mom isn’t making noise yet, and if she’s still asleep, she won’t even know if I stay in bed some more.

Yeah, I’ll just…

My eyes slowly flicker open, and I see I was right. “What are you doing here?” I ask my rabbit sleepily, my eyes still bleary. He doesn’t say anything. I don’t want him to think that I don’t want him, so I pull him closer.

But when I try to hug him, my left arm refuses to come. I keep trying, but it won’t budge, almost like it’s stuck.

I blink up, starting to get frustrated at the strange tugging feeling at my wrist, and my mind takes a while to comprehend what it’s seeing.

There’s a plastic zip tie cinched around my wrist, connected to another that sits tightly around a wooden slat in a headboard I’ve never seen before.

My wrist is already swelling a little, pale and puffy around the black zip tie, and I freak out a little because I can’t move; I can’t move my arm, and if I can’t move my arm, how am I supposed to help my rabbit or get water or get away?

My heart is tripping over itself, and my throat is closing up. I try to yank my arm, and it’s so tight it burns; I try to remember what happened, like, did I sleepwalk and do this to myself? But there are no zip ties in my room, and my mattress is at least a thousand years older than this one.

I clutch my rabbit to my chest with my free hand, every muscle in my body tensed to bolt, even though I can’t. My tongue feels even drier. There’s a noise from somewhere, like someone walking on tile. I freeze and try to shrink into the bed, but I can’t move enough to really hide.

When I peek toward the sound, I see a door; to the left of the door is a wooden dresser, and my Dad’s box sits there.

And that’s when the night before starts to come back to me. Oh God, oh no, no, no—the arm locked around my chest and the cloth over my mouth and the stranger who knew my name and called me sweetheart and held me as I passed out.

I suck in a breath so quickly that my throat closes around it, and cough as I yank my arm harder, desperately trying to get out of the restraint even as the sharp plastic bites painfully into my wrist.

“No, no, no—”