“To the person inspiring them.”
He walked away, leaving Harmony standing there to digest his words.
Cass was waiting for Harmony when she returned, her cousin looking panicked.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Harmony said, though to be honest, she felt a tightness in her chest. “They’re just doing what detectives do.”
Cass didn’t look convinced. “I don’t know if I’ve seen this expression on your face before. You look like someone has just read your diary.”
Before Harmony could respond, her phone buzzed.
The signal was weak, but the message came through anyway.
It was a single image. Harmony tapped it open.
It was a photo of all of them at the airport. It was clearly taken from somewhere behind them, in the shadows, by someone watching.
The angle was wrong. Whoever had taken it had been closer than she would’ve dared. The scariest part was that she didn’t remember anyone standing there . . . and she normally remembered everything.
There was a caption beneath it, jagged, taunting.
You don’t need detectives. You already have me.
Harmony’s breath chilled.
A new message arrived.
The ending is the most essential part of the story. Don't let them ruin it.
Whoever had sent it didn’t just want attention; they understood structure. They understood endings. This wasn’t the voice of someone panicking. It was the voice of someone studying.
Vega’s words echoed in her head about the killer writing for her, about her. For the first time, she wasn’t entirely sure whereobserverended andtargetbegan.
Cass looked at her. “What is that?”
Harmony turned off the screen and slid the phone into her pocket.
“Nothing,” she lied softly. She then looked her cousin in the eyes. “I think the story might’ve just changed, though.”
For the first time since this started, she wasn’t sure she was the one turning the pages. She’d thought she knew where the ending was headed. But someone else was writing in the margins now.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Fog of Doubt
The rain had stopped, but the island wasn’t dry. Fog hung low over Avalon, blurring edges and distances. Harmony hadn’t been sleeping well. None of them had. Through all of the noise, Candy’s songs refused to fade.
Cass walked beside Harmony down Crescent Avenue, clutching a steaming paper cup between her hands. “I feel like we’re all holding our breath,” Cass said.
“We are,” Harmony said. “We just don’t know when it’s safe to release it and still be able to pull in clean oxygen.”
Shuttered shops lined the street. Avalon looked like a town bracing for impact.
“Torie’s a wreck,” Cass murmured. “She’s convinced everyone believes she’s guilty.”
“Most people do.”
