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At first, I didn’t understand what they were trying to tell me. Then came the razor blade. The hunting knife. The noose. Each one waiting for me somewhere I was sure to find it. Each one left without a note or explanation because, by then, they didn’t need one.

Last night’s gift, however, was the one that finally made their intentions impossible to misunderstand. An obituary—mine. MAXINE MORGAN printed across the top. Everything else was blank except for one thing—a red question mark sat where the date of my death should have been.

Tell anyone, and we’ll fill in the date ourselves.

As if I needed to tell anyone for them to know something is wrong. The people closest to me already suspect that I’m losing my mind.

How could they not?

Sienna. Mr. Collins. Betty and Bill. Even Milo.

Still, I refuse to tell any of them what’s been happening. Not because I don’t want to. God, I want to. I want to tell someone everything. I want someone to make this stop. But every time I come close, all I hear is Delaney’s voice outside my bedroom door.

Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But one day, you’ll come out.

I keep my mouth shut, terrified of finding out what the Reds will do if I don’t.

But by Friday, I’m too frazzled to think straight.

Midnight hasn’t even struck when they all show up.

At least, I think it’s all of them. The only voice I don’t hear is Kayla’s, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t downstairs being a good little soldier and following Peyton’s orders as she did in the woods. Whatever morals she might have had disappeared the second that red string was tied around her wrist.

“Tonight is the night,” Sydney whispers from downstairs while another voice laughs. “Tonight we play for real.”

My stomach twists as I fear the worst.

Thwack.

Something strikes my bedroom door.

I bolt upright, eyeing the door like a bomb ready to blow off.

Thwack.

This time, wood splinters.

Oh, my God. They’re trying to cut through the door!

Panic takes over as another loud bang rattles the door, causing me to do the one thing I swore I wouldn’t. I rush to my dresser, snatch up the phone, and dial Milo’s number.

“Max?” he answers on the second ring, music blaring behind him.

“Milo.” His name comes out on a sob. “I need you to come over. Please. I really need you to come over. They… someone’s in my house.”

The music disappears beneath his voice.

“I’ll be right there. Hang up and call the police.”

The line goes dead.

I don’t call the police, though. With my luck, Amber’s brother would be the one to show up at my door and somehow find a way to say I did all this myself. Chief Neptune is probably snoring his head off by now, and even if another deputy came flying down the street with lights and sirens, the Reds would scatter before they ever got here.

No. Calling the cops on them is not an option. It would only piss them off even more.

My only hope is Milo. Peyton would never hurt him. She loves him too much.

All I can do now is wait. Wait and fucking pray that Milo gets here before they do.