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"You look a little old for trick-or-treating. I hope you're not planning on causing any trouble around here," she says. "That's a cute dog you've got, though."

I lunge at her, snapping at her ankles as she scurries back toward her front porch. Silas drops the end ofthe leash, and I chase her up the staircase, growling and barking. I latch onto her ankle as she reaches the door, and she screams.

"Get off me!" she shouts, attempting to shake me off. "You pervert! Get off me! I'm calling the police!"

Eventually, I decide that's enough and let her go. She slams the door behind her, and I get back on my feet and rush over to Silas and Tate.

"She probablyiscalling the police," I tell them. "We should get out of here."

"Good girl," Silas says. He bends down and gestures for me to get on his back. "Hop on."

I wrap my arms around his neck and climb onto his back, resting my head on his shoulders. Then I pull down his hoodie, inhaling before pressing my lips to his neck.

"Did you have fun?" Tate asks as we walk through the small motel parking lot.

"Yes."

"That's what I thought," he says.

"My knees hurt, but it was kind of funny. I hate that lady. She comes into the restaurant every Saturday, and she's always mean to me."

"Want us to kill her?"

"What? No!"

Silas sets me down in front of a first floor unit around the backside of the building.

"Is that the last game?" I ask.

Silas looks at Tate, who shakes his head slightly, but neither of them answers.

"Okay, so am I supposed to go home, then? Do I get my money now?"

"Don't be a brat, Noah," Tate says, ushering me inside with a hand on the small of my back.

The room is what you'd expect it to be—dated, dark, and a little sad. For whatever reason, whoever decorated went with a nautical theme. It's so out of place it makes the room seem worse than it is.

"I think my knees are bleeding," I say.

The guys remove their masks, and I slip off my shoes, unzip the costume, and shrug it off, letting it fall to the ground. Spots of blood seep through the knees of my grey sweats.

"Shit."

"Come here," Silas says, gesturing toward the bathroom. "I'll help you."

I follow him into the bathroom, and he pulls my bloody sweats off of me and hoists me onto the countertop. I wait there in my t-shirt and underwear while he takes out a first aid kit. "This will sting a little. Ready?"

I take a deep breath and hold it while he cleans the scrapes with alcohol and gauze.

I watch him in silence through the process. I watch his hands, his forearms and his lips when he bends down and blows on the cuts. I feel the light touch of his fingertips on the back of my calves while he bandages them.

I realize I don't feel the void anymore—and I'd gotten so used to it. I don't feel the empty nothingness at my core—the one that weighs me down and pins me to the bed every morning,the one that used to hold all the things that made memebefore I lost them all.

I feel…important.Loved.

"Silas?"

"Yeah?" he answers, tossing the gauze into the garbage.