Cora stared at Milo's phone screen until the image of Callie burned into her memory.
"I have to go," she managed, her voice tight. She needed answers, and she needed them now.
She found Callie in their usual spot behind the school, sitting on the bleachers with her ever-present phone. This time, Cora didn't wait for an invitation.
"Why are you in a photo with Emily Grayson?"
Callie's fingers froze mid-text. For a moment, she didn't move, didn't breathe. Then, slowly, she looked up. "What?"
"Don't." Cora's voice cracked. "Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. The photo, Callie. You. Emily. The Circle.
Color drained from Callie's face. Her phone slipped from her fingers, clattering against the metal bleachers. "Where did you—"
"Does it matter? What matters is you lied to me. You knew about all of this, didn't you? About the deaths, about Jaden—"
"It wasn't like that." Callie's voice was small, defensive. She wouldn't meet Cora's eyes. "The Circle... it wasn't what you think."
"Then what was it?"
Callie wrapped her arms around herself, a gesture Cora had never seen from her confident friend.
"It was just a club, okay? For popular kids. Secret meetings, inside jokes, that kind of thing. I went to a few meetings sophomore year, but I left before—" She stopped abruptly.
"Before what?"
"Before things got serious." Callie's hands twisted in her lap. "I didn't know anything about the deaths. I swear."
But something in her voice rang false. Her eyes darted around like trapped birds, looking anywhere but at Cora. Her fingers wouldn't stop moving, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve.
"You're lying," Cora said quietly.
"I'm not!" Callie stood up so quickly she almost stumbled. "Just drop it, Cora. Please. Some things aren't meant to be dug up."
She grabbed her phone and practically ran, leaving Cora alone with more questions than answers.
That afternoon, Cora drove to the Harper house. She'd gathered Jaden's belongings from his locker in a cardboard box—textbooks, notebooks, a worn baseball cap. A proper excuse to visit.
Mrs. Harper answered the door with red-rimmed eyes. "Oh, Cora. How thoughtful of you to bring his things."
The house smelled like grief—stale air and too many casseroles brought by well-meaning neighbors. Mrs. Harper led her to the living room, gesturing vaguely at the box.
"You can put those anywhere. Would you like some tea?"
"Yes, thank you. Actually," Cora said carefully, "could I... could I use a bathroom real quick?"
Mrs. Harper's face crumpled slightly. "Of course, dear. Up the stairs, second door on the right. Take your time."
Instead, while Mrs. Harper was preparing the tea in the kitchen, Cora sneaked into Jaden's room. From the first moment she was in it felt like it was frozen in time.
Bed unmade, clothes scattered across the floor, posters curling at the edges. A life interrupted mid-sentence. Cora moved carefully, looking for anything out of place, anything that might help her understand.
She found it under his mattress—a leather-bound journal, its pages stuffed with loose papers and Post-it notes. Her hands shook as she opened it.
The first pages were normal enough—school notes, random thoughts. But halfway through, the entries changed. Became darker. More frantic.
"They're always watching. Can't trust anyone."
"The festival isn't just tradition—it's a warning."
"No way out. Once you're in, you're in forever."
Names appeared throughout, some she recognized, some she didn't. Dates of deaths, locations, patterns he'd noticed. Cora's stomach churned as she recognized Emily Grayson's name, followed by detailed notes about her "accident."
Then she saw it—an entry dated just days before his death:
"Callie knows more than she's saying, but I can't push her too hard. They're watching her too."