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She ignores that.

"People think stories disappear because nobody tells them anymore."

She traces one of the locations.

"They don't."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that places remember."

I almost dismiss it. Almost. But then I remember the message on my phone.

YOU KEEP LOOKING.

I remember Sayer saying the house was holding its breath. I remember Rhett standing in my backyard with something impossible moving beneath his skin.

"So what is it?"

Everly looks toward the front window. Outside, tourists are already beginning their Halloween pilgrimage. Families taking pictures. Children wearing costumes. People laughing beneath strings of orange lights. Everyone celebrating the idea of fear.

"Something that feeds on attention."

I frown.

"Like a ghost?"

"No."

She looks back at me.

"Like a story."

That answer bothers me because it makes too much sense. Hollow Truths exists because people tell stories. Because secrets want somewhere to go. Because humans cannot keep carrying things alone.

"What does it want?"

Everly is quiet. Then:

"Recognition."

The word echoes.

"Meaning?"

"Things that are forgotten become angry."

I don't like where this is going.

"Sayer?"

Her expression tells me enough before she speaks.

"The missing children."

My stomach tightens.

"You think they're connected."