The first thing Iris did when they got home was ask her parents if she could go hang out with a pack of rabid dogs.

"I want to speak to the reporters," was what she actually said.

Her parents would have probably responded better to the rabid-dog thing.

Collin snuck away during the ensuing argument. The house was dark, the drapes pulled over every window. The whir of voices just outside was more intrusive for being muffled, and put Collin in mind of flies buzzing around a covered dish. He chanced a peek once he got upstairs. People in smart clothes had taken over the front lawn, some wandering, others caught still in front of cameras and glaring lights. News vans blocked off the street. The neighbors were gonna be pissed.

"They're not going anywhere until they get their story," Iris said.

Collin's heart kicked up his throat, but he didn't let on, which was something. "Did your parents buy that argument?" he asked.

"Nope," Iris said.

She dropped into Collin's chair. Collin watched her, trying to spot some trace of whatever it was that'd freaked her out at school, but she looked as she always did.

"How often do you get headaches like that?" he asked.

"Like what?" Iris asked.

"With the," Collin gestured at his own face, "nosebleeds, and stuff."

Iris shrugged. "Back me up on the interview thing," she said instead of answering.

Collin snorted. "Yeah, right."

"Why not?" Iris asked, sounding ever so slightly exasperated, in the manner of someone reasoning with unreasonable people.

"Have you looked outside?" Collin gestured at the drapes with more vehemence than strictly necessary.

"I can handle it," Iris said.

"I bet you think so," Collin muttered.

The thing was, Iris made sense. The longer the Weavers held off the press, the juicier the story was gonna seem. Without an official statement of some sort, there was no avoiding bullshit hypotheticals. There was no avoiding that at all, but setting the story straight before it got twisted up beyond help was not a bad way to go.

"If they ask me, I'll tell them what I think," Collin said.

"Thanks, means a lot," Iris said flatly.

Collin debated leaving well alone after Iris left, an internal argument that ended with an open laptop and Miriam Castello's name in the search bar. News stories popped up first. The girl in the pictures floating about the net was still a gangly kid, kinda nerdy-looking, no trace of goth to be found but still very much the Miriam that'd tried to punch Iris in the face. She was, however, not the main story.

Donna Castello's disappearance had rocked the town. She'd been sixteen, someone the media'd dubbed "a troubled teen" - like there was any other kind - but overall a good kid, no involvement in shady business or reason to up and leave without notice. The girl's dad was held as a person of interest. The man'd ended up offing himself, and the investigation never went anywhere useful.

The girl's body had turned up a month later. A fisherman had netted the corpse in, water-swollen and battered. The cause of death was ruled a severe head trauma, some days old. It was clear that Donna Castello had been murdered.

By then, Iris Weaver had been missing for over a week.

Collin ended his search abruptly, throat burning. A restless anger thrummed under his skin for the rest of the day. Thankfully, the Weavers were too worried over Iris to notice. Iris kicked him under the table at dinner. Collin didn't react, and she let him be.

It came to him late that night. Dread rolled down his spine like thunder, and he tore out of bed before sense could rein him in. There was no light under Iris's door. Collin stormed inside, telling himself he didn't care if he woke Iris up or not, terrified that he'd find her gone.

Iris looked up from her phone. Her dead eye glistened silver with the pale light, the other in shadow.

"You can't do it," Collin blurted out.

Iris set the phone down. "Come here," she said.

Collin went. "It's stupid," he told her, "It's the stupidest fucking thing you could do."

"Talk quieter, or get out," Iris said.

Collin ground his teeth. He stood by the bed, panting, so angry he shook.

"Sit," Iris said, then added, a touch begrudgingly, "If you want."

The concession helped. Collin sat at the edge of the bed and worked on breathing normally, feeling a bit like a popped balloon.

"He's not gonna show," he said.

"He will," Iris replied, immediate and certain.

Collin wanted to shake her. "All the more reason you don't do this! Fuck, Iris - if the police couldn't catch him all these years, you sure as hell won't," he hissed.

"I almost did," Iris said.

Collin's mouth went dry. "What?" he asked, a bare croak of a sound, still too loud in the dark between them.

"I was searching for someone," Iris said.

"Donna," Collin guessed.

"Yes," Iris said. She didn't sound surprised, had probably expected Collin would do his research after the incident with Miriam. "I figured it out, in the end. I found her."

"On your own?" Collin asked.

Iris didn't answer. Maybe she didn't remember; maybe she didn't want to share. Collin couldn't stand to push.

"Was she still alive?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," Iris said, paused. "Until she wasn't."

Collin had no words for what he felt. He clenched his hands in the blankets, blinked the burn from his eyes. "Did you see the guy that took her?" he asked, voice as steady as he could make it.

"I remember Donna. I don't think I ever saw him," Iris said.

Collin thought of the crown of scars Iris hid under her hair. The fucking coward had come at her from behind.

"Her sister looks a lot like her, you know," Iris said, her voice distant.

"Yeah," Collin said. She did.

They sat in the dark, not speaking. Collin lay down after a while, stretching out at the foot of the bed. He stared at the ceiling until his eyes blurred.

"You asleep?" Iris said an indeterminate time later.

"Yes," Collin replied, just because.

"Tell me a story," Iris said.

Collin thought it over. He could keep quiet, but then it'd be quiet, and he didn't really want that. He would make up a story, he decided. Retell some old fairy-tale, the stupidest one he could think of.

"I found a snake, once," is what came out when he opened his mouth.

"What kind?" Iris asked.

Collin shrugged. "Dunno. It was brown."

"Where'd you find it?" Iris asked, warming up to the topic.

"This family I was staying with - they had a vegetable garden in their backyard," Collin began. He was already regretting his choice of story. "I used to help with the weeding and the watering. It was late summer, real dry day, and I went out to water the - cabbage, or carrots, or something, I don't remember. Anyway, they had this brown hose."

Iris chortled. "Yeah, very funny," Collin said, fighting a grin, "It bit me, you know."

"The hose?" Iris said, mock-serious.

"Whatever," Collin said.

"Did you kill it?" she asked.

"Nah," he said, bothered by the question without knowing why, "It wasn't venomous, and it's not like it did anything wrong. Just a snake being a snake."

Iris hummed in response. Collin remembered the sting of the snake's teeth, calling out, more out of shock and revulsion than pain. He'd been on his third foster home by then. No one had come out to see what'd happened.

"Don't go on TV," Collin said. "Don't try to find him."

"It's too late," Iris told him, almost gently.

She was right, of course. It'd been too late the moment she'd rang the Weavers' doorbell, Truth coming out of the well with all her scars.

"Just, be careful," Collin said uselessly.

He could almost hear Iris roll her eyes. "If you insist. What happened with the snake?"

"Nothing. Never saw it again."

"That wasn't a very good story," Iris noted.

"You tell one, then," Collin said.

Sheets rustled. Iris was moving around, stretching out. Her feet ended up in Collin's face, possibly by accident. He batted her away with a sleepy grumble.

"You've heard the story of the Baskerville Hound?" Iris said around a yawn.

"Mine was real," Collin protested.

Iris kicked him, but gently. "So is this one. You see, Derek used to have a pet Doberman . . ."

* * *

The days that followed were hectic. Iris was chauffeured to and from school through an ever-swelling sea of reporters, Collin netted in her current like a piece of plywood from some unknown and unimportant wreck. The Weavers were still firmly against Iris showing her mug on TV, which made life at home pretty tense.

School was little better. Teachers tried so hard to treat Iris like everyone else that they barely acknowledged her presence half the time, only to turn around and shower the girl with praise over the most miniscule of accomplishments. Kindergarten teachers showed more restraint with the compliments. Their classmates, on the other hand, got progressively more annoying in a completely different way. People came at Iris nonstop and under the barest of pretenses, minding neither their words nor Iris's personal space. Collin hadn't heard that much bullshit spewed since the time he'd inadvertently caught the end of some reality TV show.

Iris didn't seem to give a shit about any of it. She oscillated between saccharine pleasantries and dead-fish staring whenever someone tried to involve her in a conversation. It was pretty fun to watch, though she was starting to get a weird rep around school, and not the one she actually deserved.

On Wednesday, Iris had her first session with Reed. Collin was consequentially stuck babysitting Derek over lunch. He hadn't planned on it, but couldn't very well up and leave when Derek lumbered over, tray of food in hand. It might'd gone worse if Kira hadn't joined them out of nowhere halfway through.

"Since when do you have lunch fifth?" was what Collin said in greeting, because his mouth ran away from him sometimes.

"Since today," Kira responded. She offered Derek her hand. "Kira Leger."

"Derek Wilburn," Derek said. He'd shot out of his seat when Kira showed up, and was in the process of sitting back down when Kira made her introduction. He ended up shaking her hand while frozen half-way to his chair.

"Nice to meet you," Kira offered.

Derek nodded dumbly. Kira asked after his classes and interests, which sounded like innocent small talk until she mentioned that representatives of several sports clubs had expressed interest in recruiting Derek for their teams. Derek slid lower and lower in his seat as the conversation progressed.

"It'll look good on your college resume," Kira said.

"I'll think about it," Derek mumbled. He threw a pleading look Collin's way.

"Do you still need help in calc?" Collin asked and wondered when exactly he had become Derek's minder.

Kira did not look overly impressed with Collin's evasion maneuver, but was too polite to ignore him outright, which is what Collin'd been banking on in the first place. "Sure. Whenever you're free."

Collin said nothing for a solid minute.

"Hadn't thought that far?" Kira asked evenly.

"No," Collin admitted. Derek hid a grin behind his burger, the traitor.

"I won't hold you to it," Kira said. "This is the last thing you should worry about, what with," she waved her hand, encompassing the mess that was Collin's life with a flick of her fingers.

"I promised that I would," Collin said. He didn't make promises lightly and intended to keep this one, rabid reporters and Iris' scheming be damned.

The problem was, he couldn't exactly invite Kira over, what with the circus camped out in the Weavers' front yard. Going to Kira's was also out of the question - the cameras were sure to follow, and that was just not happening on Collin's watch.

"After school, at the library," Collin tried.

Kira shook her head. "Student Council."

"Every day?" Collin asked, incredulous. He couldn't imagine voluntarily spending so much time at school.

"Every day, 'til six," Derek confirmed before Kira could.

Kira raised her brows. Derek flushed and ducked his head, possibly forgetting that his hair could no longer serve as a shield against curious stares.

"Iris used to be in Student Council," he muttered.

"That's right," Kira said. She sounded thoughtful, and not in the way Derek's stalkerish announcement warranted.

"We could do it over lunch. It's not like we need the entire period to eat," Collin said, eager to change the subject.

"Lunch is fine," Kira said. "Will Iris be joining us today?"

"Probably not," Collin said.

Derek perked up suddenly, eyes slipping to a point over Collin's shoulder. Collin held in a sigh. He turned to check, and yes, there Iris was, a full fifteen minutes early. She greeted them with a cheerful wave and plopped in the free chair next to Kira.

"How'd it go?" Derek asked.

Collin kicked him under the table. Derek threw him a wide-eyed look of betrayed incomprehension.

"You don't ask about things like that," Collin told him.

"I don't mind," Iris said.

Collin scowled; Iris wouldn't, having no concept of decorum, but Kira sure looked like she was debating making a dash for the door. "Have you eaten?" he asked.

Iris' good eye darted between him and Kira. She smirked. Collin clutched his plastic spork with murderous intent, but all Iris did was reach across the table and pull Collin's lunch toward her.

"I could get you a new tray," Derek offered.

"I'm not hungry," Iris said through a mouthful of Collin's fries.

Kira made a soft sound. She gained the table's attention and, obviously looking for something to say that wasn't, you're all insane, blurted, "You were in Student Council."

"I was," Iris agreed placidly.

"Are you interested in joining again?" Kira asked.

Iris' chewing slowed. "Not particularly," she said at last, "Though I will have to join something, so it may as well be this."

"You don't have to," Kira began, obviously flustered.

Iris waved her concern away. "It's Reed. He's got it in his head that I would benefit from social interaction with my peers. I've got to choose an activity by next Wednesday."

Collin snorted. No amount of socializing was going to cut it where Iris was concerned. Reed, on the other hand, might well gain a few more patients as a result of Iris' efforts to integrate into the student body.

"Reed, as in Dr. Reed?" Kira asked.

"One and only," Iris agreed. She tried to snatch Collin's milk carton. Collin batted her hand away.

"You shouldn't have to do anything you don't want to," Kira said.

"It's not a big deal," Iris said.

"It is," Kira insisted. She looked a little angry, Collin thought, her lovely eyes flashing.

Lovely?! Collin screamed at himself. He'd never used that adjective in his life, and now Kira's eyes were lovely?

So preoccupied was he with his inexplicable descent into madness that he almost missed the glint of interest in Iris' good eye. The chill that went through him was appropriately dramatic. Oh, hell no.

"If you're joining, so am I," Collin said.

Iris raised a brow. "How noble," she drawled.

"We are in need of officers," Kira offered. She launched into what was likely the Student Council selling pitch, hesitant at first, then with growing enthusiasm once she realized no one was about to make a run for it or tell her to screw off – which, Collin strongly suspected, were the primary reactions to this particular speech.

"You are welcome to apply, as well," Kira told Derek.

Derek shook his head. Kira left it at that, though she did send Collin a meaningful look. Collin pretended not to notice. He was not actually Derek's keeper, and had no intention of figuring out whatever hang-ups had the older boy locked in his own head.

Kira left first, promising to catch them later in the day with more information about open positions and all the fabulous things the Student Council was doing around the school. Collin turned on Iris with his coldest glare as soon as the girl was gone.

"Do not even think about it," he warned.

Iris smirked at him. Collin glowered. It might've gone like that for a while, except the table smacked Collin in the face suddenly, and Iris' irritating mug was lost to a burst of purple-red.

"Sorry, man, didn't see you there."

Collin raised his head. He saw Iris first – she wasn't smiling anymore. She wasn't doing much of anything, face and body still enough to raise shivers along Collin's spine.

Someone clapped Collin's shoulder. "You okay?" Michael asked, too loud.

Collin's skull pounded. Michael had gotten him in the back of the head with a tray – the damn things were metal, and Michael hadn't been holding back on the swing. Collin touched his face. His vision was a little blurry, but he could make the red smeared on his fingers just fine.

"Hey, I said-"

A soft sob broke Michael's gleeful ribbing. Collin looked up, too fast. The brief surge of nausea gave way to shock.

Iris was crying.

"Why would you do that?" she asked, lips trembling. Her good eye was red, her lashes and cheek wet.

Derek stood up. His chair fell back, the clatter of it loud enough to echo. The cafeteria was too quiet, Collin realized.

Michael backed away from the table, fleeing into his group of friends. A glance up at Derek told Collin why. Collin'd never seen a man's eyes look that dead, and he'd seen plenty of fucked-up people in his short life.

"Don't," Collin said. He didn't know who he was talking to.

"He should see a doctor," Iris said, still tearful.

Collin refocused on the girl, and found her talking with a mountain of muscle – or rather, a security guard, the silent one that'd handed Collin his water bottle a week ago. The man lacked expression. He wasted no time into collaring Michael and his crew out of the cafeteria and toward the principal's office, not sparing Collin a single glance.

Derek helped Collin up. Collin tried to shake him off once he was on his feet, but Derek proved surprisingly strong and unyielding.

"Come on," Iris bid. She spoke softly, but there was no mistaking the order for what it was.

Collin resigned himself to being towed to the nurse's office. He tried not to look at anyone they passed, or mind the eyes digging in his skin.