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Ashland, Oregon

Why, why, why did you come back?

Riley had been safe in France, far from anyone who would do her harm. Yet, she’d returned to Ashland because Jane was dead.

If she had been here, Jane would still be alive. Riley may have been paranoid, but it kept them safe. Jane was too trusting, too kind, and now she was dead. Guilt filled her, drowning her with grief. She’d left, now Jane was gone.

Riley had to stop thinking about it. The what-ifs, the guilt, the regrets. The present was all that mattered. One day at a time. Pushing forward because looking back would shatter her.

Remembering the past only brought sorrow and rage. Thinking about what could have been created a whirlpool of doubt and regret. The future was uncertain, so thinking about what might happen would only bring anxiety.

Especially when you must be extra careful so they never find you.

Stay quiet, stay humble, stay free. That was the only way to survive.

Jane was dead and Riley had to accept it, move forward. But in the back of her mind she knew that somehow, someway, her mother was responsible. Her mother had found Jane.

If she had found Jane, did that mean she knew Riley was alive?

No. Impossible.

Riley had been dead for nearly four years, so why now? She hadn’t even been in the country for the last eight months! There was no way her mother knew she was alive. No possible way.

For half a minute she thought about telling the police why Jane had been killed, but they wouldn’t believe her. Her story sounded so outrageous they might think that she was guilty of murder, or that she made up the story for attention.

Even if they believed her, even if she could convince them of the truth, they couldn’t help because she didn’t know who specifically came here to lure Jane to her death. She couldn’t tell the police where her mother lived or how to find her.

The Rocky Mountains was a big area to search.

She knew how that conversation would go.

“My mother wanted Jane dead, but she didn’t kill Jane herself because she never leaves home.”

“Where can we find her?”

“Well, I’m not exactly sure. Somewhere in Colorado, in the mountains, but I don’t have an address. I can’t even take you there because I left in the middle of the night. There were tall trees, big rocks, and miles of land before I even saw civilization.”

If only she’d gotten here earlier, she could have grabbed the box before the police. Everything had just become a lot more complicated.

Oblivious to the increasing rain, Riley walked along the fence of the sports training field, not even gloating that she’d slipped away from the cop who spotted her. Just the idea of talking to the police panicked her.

After all, she’d grown up believing that the police were the enemy, that they would imprison her without cause, because she was from Havenwood. The stories her mother told...it didn’t matter that now Riley knew they were twisted lies with half-truths, that even now Riley didn’t know what was real and what her mother made up. Nineteen years of constant fear of the outside world was hard to break.

Riley knew Ashland better than most anyone. When she and Jane first moved here, she’d made it her mission to learn every street, path, fence, and building within a half-mile radius of their apartment, plus every inch of the campus. If they had to disappear, Riley could make it happen.

Jane handled the fear differently. She became a homebody, read books, learned to cook, took care of their apartment. Riley didn’t fault her. Jane was a year younger and she’d always been more... delicate . Sensitive. It was Riley’s job to protect her, to watch for threats, to create escape plans.

Tears burned but didn’t fall. Dammit, dammit, dammit! Out of everyone from Havenwood, Jane was the best, brightest light. The darkness hadn’t extinguished her soul.

Riley had failed her.

It didn’t matter that Jane had urged her to take the opportunity in France. Initially, Riley hadn’t even considered applying for the study abroad internship at a museum where she could study all the great artists and have the time and the freedom to draw. But Jane supported her, pushed her, encouraged her.

“Find peace, Riley. I’m okay because of you. I want you to find the peace I have found.”

She should have stayed and protected the girl she thought of as a sister.

Riley had never told Jane that she hadn’t found peace, even halfway across the world. Havenwood was always in the background of everything she did, said, thought. No matter how hard she pushed the memories away, they were there, lurking beneath the surface, returning in her dreams, dominating her nightmares.

She had escaped three and a half years ago and felt as if she were still trapped. Not all of Havenwood was bad. There was good...there was bad...there was light...and there was a deep, deep darkness that came from her mother’s twisted beliefs.

Months after moving to France, Riley accepted that she hadn’t left Ashland because she was running from Jane, or the claustrophobia of a small college town, or even from her family... She’d been running from herself.

You can never run away from who you are.

Riley realized that she was soaked through as the rain continued to fall. She found a tree to sit under and leaned against the trunk, staring at the empty practice field that marked the southern boundary of campus.

Jane was dead and Riley wanted vengeance. There was no justice in the world, but she could taste vengeance, feel the retribution she would dole out on those who killed an innocent.

Did Thalia know? If they found Jane, could they find everyone?

Grief ate at her as she considered her options, the quiet of the wet, foggy field wrapping around her, giving her a momentary feeling of overwhelming—and welcome—solitude.

Her first thought: run back to France. Grieve for Jane there, in safety.

The cowardly option.

Guilt and responsibility. Jane wasn’t the only person at risk. If Thalia didn’t know that Jane was dead, Riley had to tell her and find a way to warn the others.

There were two people who knew how to reach Thalia. Jesse, and she’d already left him an encoded note on the private online message board he maintained. She didn’t know when he’d check it, but if he had, he hadn’t yet reached out to her. She didn’t know where he lived, only that it was somewhere in Colorado.

And Chris. Riley knew where Chris lived.

She pulled out her smartphone and made a flight reservation to Albuquerque under her second name. He would help. He might be the only person who could help. And she wanted to tell him about Jane in person. She sent him a quick, vague message over WhatsApp.

Watch your back. See you soon.

Leaving Ashland felt like she was abandoning her best, her only friend, yet again. But she had to protect the others.

Far too many people had died in her short life. And because her mother thought she was dead, Riley might be the only person who could stop this.

Taking a last, long look at the field, Riley pulled the hood of her jacket over her head and briskly walked back to her rental car—which she’d rented under the name Riley Prince, her second identity.

It came in handy to have multiple identities when you didn’t really know who you were.

Or who you wanted to be.