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Footsteps sounded overhead.

“Marissa! Downstairs. Now.”

A teenage boy appeared first, followed by a girl with short dark hair and an oversized sweatshirt. They both slowed when they saw us.

Nick’s expression turned to one of panic.

Marissa glanced toward her father. “What happened?”

Mr. Fletcher pointed toward the couch. “Sit.”

They sat.

Mrs. Fletcher remained standing. “Did either of you place smoke bombs at the Blackwell property?”

Marissa’s eyes widened. “No.”

Nick looked away.

The movement told every adult in the room enough.

Mr. Fletcher’s entire body hardened. “Nick.”

The boy rubbed both palms against his jeans. “It wasn’t supposed to hurt anyone that badly.”

Mrs. Fletcher gasped in disbelief.

Marissa turned toward him. “You did what?”

Nick’s jaw tightened. “They kept messing with us.”

“So you used wolfsbane?” his father demanded.

“It was diluted.”

“People lost consciousness.”

Nick’s face drained. “What?”

“There were children inside,” I said.

His gaze snapped toward mine. “We thought the houses were empty.”

“You threw a modified smoke device through a window without knowing who was inside?” his father asked.

Nick stared at the floor.

Marissa pulled away from him on the couch. “You told me you were going to scare them.”

“I did scare them.”

Her lower lip trembled. “You could have killed somebody.”

Mrs. Fletcher stepped closer. “Who helped you?”

Nick didn’t answer.

“Nick.”