I cleared my throat, thinking fast. Dr. Hardcastle didn’t appear aware of anything out of the ordinary. Other than me—and I couldn’t afford to stand out. Which meant I had to shove my fear and my confusion and my utter disorientation as deep as I possibly could as quickly as I possibly could, and never mind how much worse it would be later, and—
Smile. “You scared the crap out of me!” I declared. Just the right touch of silly me. Just the right shake of my head. “Oh, hey, check this out. I found it in the specimen room. I was going to ask Kenny about it, but I guess I got turned around.” I held out the skull. Get him focusing on anything except just how out of breath I am.
“May I?” He took it from me, and I was so intent on stitching together this mask of cheer over my face that I didn’t even flinch when his finger nudged against mine. “Huh. It looks like a tern, but I couldn’t tell you specifically. You found it in the specimen room?”
“It was in the back of a drawer,” I said.
“Part trash heap, part treasure trove. It’s probably been here longer than I have, and that’s saying something.” He handed it back to me. “You can keep it, if you’d like.”
“Really?” I didn’t have to fake surprise this time.
He gave me a winning, empty smile. “Whoever it belonged to is long gone, and the LARC doesn’t need it. Call it a souvenir. Since Bitter Rock doesn’t have a gift shop.”
I mimicked his expression, beaming vapidly at him. “Thanks,” I said. “Everyone here is so great.”
“We take care of each other at the LARC,” he said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”
“Of course.” The last stitch of my mask cinched into place. My anger would wait. I would let it out later. When it was useful. Right now, I needed answers.
His footsteps faded. I put a hand on the door, but I didn’t open it. I listened, straining for the sound of shrieking birds or rolling thunder. There was only silence.
I eased the door open. The sky was gray but the sun was bright even filtered through the clouds. No man, no storm, no twisted, broken birds. I let the door swing shut again, and stepped away.
“Sophia!” Liam called. He and Abby were running toward me, faces frantic with worry. I all but staggered toward them, relief hitting me hard.
“Where did you go?” Abby and I said at the same time, and stared at each other a beat.
“You disappeared,” Liam said.
“So did you,” I replied, a touch accusatory. But no—I was the one who had gone somewhere. I strode past them, back the way I had come. The door to the specimen room was closed. Abby and Liam trailed behind me, as if understanding that I needed to see for myself. I punched in the code and pushed open the door.
I expected chaos. I expected ruin and there wasn’t any. The birds stood still in their stiff poses, stuffed and sewn up tight, watching me with glass eyes and not the slightest hint of a twitch or a cry. I looked down at the skull in my hand. And at the tacky smudge on my palm: blood, half-dried, and three bright green threads from a rain shell stuck to it. There was no sign of that black liquid.
“There was a man,” I said softly. His face nagged at me. I’d seen it before. Where?
I whipped around, had to stop myself from sprinting all the way to the foyer.
“Where are you going?” Liam asked, but I shook my head, forcing them to follow. I ran to the entryway, searching the photos that hung there.
There. From last year. A man in a bright green windbreaker, standing between Kenny and Lily in front of the LARC, smiling broadly with his hands in his pockets.
I pressed my fingers against the glass beside his face. The same eyes. The same jacket. But that smile—this was a smile of joy, not that leering, twisted grin he’d flashed at me.
“Daniel Rivers?” Liam said, reading the caption over my shoulder.
“He was here,” I said. “Or not here. Wherever I was. He was . . .” I swallowed, trying not to picture it. And then, my movements urgent, I stalked along the wall. 2016. 2015. Back and back. The faces changed, the numbers waxed and waned, but there was