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My gaze keeps snagging on small things—the uneven line of tiles along the wall, the smear on a passing door, the way the fluorescent lighting flickers before steadying, then flickers again. I count each tap of my shoes against the floor as we walk, trying to ignore the thin layer of grime coating it and failing.

The facility may have been designated for examining remains, but designation and suitability are apparently unrelated concepts.

Evan keeps talking, pointing things out as we go. “Evidence storage is back here. We’ve had to lock everything down. Cameras, badge access, the whole deal. It’s been so strange.”

“I can imagine,” I say, which is code for this is a nightmare, why were they not doing those things to begin with? It’s standard protocol.

Camera and controlled access are basic chain-of-custody safeguards. The sort of things that would be nonnegotiable anywhere with a proper budget. But places like Stillwater don’t get proper budgets. They get hand-me-down procedures and whatever equipment someone managed to convince the county to approve seven fiscal years ago.

I understand that, but it doesn’t make it acceptable.

Beside me, Tamsin is practically vibrating with anticipation. “This is so fun. I love this.”

I don’t bother turning to look at her. “Please don’t.”

She ignores me completely and says to Evan, “So. Teen Serena.”

I close my eyes.

Evan laughs, “What about her?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Tamsin says lightly. “Was she as intense as she is now? As weird as she is now? As quietly judgmental as she is now?”

“Yes.” He doesn’t hesitate in the slightest. “All of those.”

“Gee, thanks to both of you.” I reach up and flick Evan’s ear.

He grabs my hand and lifts it over my head, using the opening to jab a finger into my side. I jerk sideways with an involuntary laugh, twisting away until he finally lets go. I smack his arm on instinct.

Professional. Who am I kidding? I’ve known all along this consult would be anything but.

“Tell me a very Serena the Teenage Witch story, please,” Tamsin requests, oh so innocently. She flutters her long dark eyelashes, laying it on a bit thick for extra effect.

I’m fairly certain Evan needs no encouragement at all to share an embarrassing story about me for the sake of a laugh.

He smiles, soft and nostalgic, which should have been the first red flag.

“There was a summer with a string of random robberies. Mostly petty thefts—cash from unlocked cars, things going missing from the tubing launch. By the end of the summer, they’d escalated to houses.”

Tamsin perks up. “Was Serena a thief?!”

“No, I wasn’t a thief. And I find your lack of deductive reasoning in this scenario is somewhat alarming.”

At that, Tamsin flicks my ear. Evidently, we’ve all abandoned verbal communication and reverted to the social conventions of twelve-year-olds.

“Quite the opposite,” Evan continues. “The police said it was random, Serena did not accept that. At all.”

“I was sixteen and bored and Tamsin does not need to hear this—,” I insist.

“She made a map,” he cuts me off. “Like an actual map pinned to her bedroom wall. She tracked dates, times, locations.”

Tamsin brings a hand to her chest, her mouth softening into an exaggerated little smile as she lets out a quiet, theatrical sigh. “Of course she did.”

“She decided the local PD was incompetent,” Evan adds. “Baby Serena had a strong sense of justice.”

“I said they were useless,” I correct. “And pigs.”

“At sixteen,” Tamsin parrots, delighted. “Iconic. Did you solve the mystery?”