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Sure enough, when I open the message, there aren’t any words—only a single emoji of a tiny hand making a heart with its pointer finger and thumb.

“I’m going to murder Maisie,” I growl, tossing my phone aside. “She gave Thaddeus my number.”

“Thaddeus? Park?” says Kit, and to my surprise, he chuckles. “Perhaps she thinks you need more friends.”

“She should’ve asked me first,” I mutter.

“You’re not wrong, but this is also Maisie we’re talking about,” he says, drawing me to him again. “The concept of asking for permission is completely foreign to her.”

I grumble a bit more. “I keep seeing Ben in the background of her pictures.”

“Oh?” says Kit mildly. “She did mention wanting to keep an eye on him.”

“Yes, but she doesn’t have to actually hang out with him all day,” I say. He doesn’t disagree, at least, and after a moment I decide to test the waters. “I really think he had something to do with it, Kit. I know he was with Alexander and everyone else, I know they were watching him the whole time, but the gift he gave me at Christmas…”

“Gift?” says Kit, instantly more alert. “You mean that photo album? Is there something sinister inside?”

I shake my head, though I don’t actually know, because I’ve refused to touch it. “It’s the cover. Look—I think it’s still under the couch.”

Sure enough, when Kit bends down to grope beneath the sofa, he straightens a moment later with the album in his hand. His fingers brush against the gold lettering, and in the daylight, it’s easier to see the slight indent of where the 2023 used to be. Without me saying a word, his eyebrows shoot up, and he leans in to get a better look.

“Is that…?” he says, and I nod.

“My death year. Obviously he was wrong, but not for lack of trying.”

Kit sucks in a breath. “Ev, you have to show someone. Even if Ben had nothing to do with the shooting, this is still a very real threat.”

I frown. “He’ll claim it was a mistake, or that he didn’t mean for it to look like a memorial album.”

“Maybe, but you still need to tell your father,” he insists, and I sigh.

“I will, once Maisie’s back and my mom’s settled into her routine here. But it won’t change anything, Kit—you know it won’t. Alexander will make more excuses, and everyone will think I have an irrational vendetta against Ben, especially when he has a dozen witnesses who can truthfully say he was with them when we were attacked.”

“It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks,” says Kit, setting the album aside and wrapping his arms around me again. “What matters is your safety.”

“Alexander said he won’t let him anywhere near me or my mom again,” I say, resting against his chest. “I think that’s the best I can hope for right now. I can’t prove anything, not yet, but…there’s just something about the way Ben looks at me. And his smirk—it’s like he knows something bad is coming, and he’s just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Kit nuzzles the top of my head. “When—if—it does, we’ll figure out how to beat him at his own game, Ev. I promise.”

“What if we can’t?” I say. “Or…what if it costs us something we don’t want to lose?”

Our eyes meet, and the energy between us crackles with everything we haven’t said. “Then we’ll make him pay,” says Kit quietly. And I know he means it.

—

THE NEXT MORNING, I WAKE to another round of faint whispers coming from somewhere nearby. It’s still early, and when I glance at Kit, he’s fast asleep, clearly unbothered by the eerie sound.

I head into my sitting room on the off chance someone really is out there, but of course it’s empty, and the voices disappear as soon as I cross the threshold. Too rattled to remain in my apartment, I brush my teeth and head toward the family dining room instead. Alexander is already seated at the table with a newspaper in one hand and a piece of toast in the other, and he glances up when I enter.

“Good morning,” he says, managing to conceal most of his surprise. To be fair, I’m usually not an early bird. “How did you sleep?”

“Fine,” I lie, plopping down into the chair beside him. Telling him about the strange whispers feels dangerous, even though I can’t figure out why. “My phone kept going off—Maisie went to some party, and she sent about a hundred pictures.”

“Did I not show you how to silence your mobile?” he says before taking a bite of toast.

“I know how,” I say, stealing a piece of bacon from his plate. “But I forgot, and it was on the other side of the room. Where’s my mom?”

“She had a long night,” he says, and at my glare, he shakes his head with faint amusement. “Painting, Evie. She had a long night painting. She hasn’t been sleeping well since Christmas, and—well, we both know she needs her rest.”