Alex: "I just can't believe White Robe went through all that trouble to frame Azalea for Cassandra's murder."

Hannah: "He really hated her—him and Lace Face."

Hunter Thomas Singleton:

"What if we used her Apple ID, Hunter? We could use the 'Find My iPhone' app to track her down."

I was silent, the pulsing of a million fears rebounding inside my brain—

"Hunter!" Hannah's teeth were clenched as she eyed me with an unyielding glare.

"Oh, sorry," I said lowly. "I was...I was just a little zoned out..."

"Yeah, I noticed," Hannah snapped back. "Look, if we're going to have any chance of finding Azalea, we have to keep thinking. And judging by that last text White Robe sent, we're running out of—"

DING!

Hannah was mid-sentence when the doorbell rang, a jolt of shock blasting the both of us.

Eyes widening, Hannah placed one finger over her lips, signaling for me to keep quiet, then tiptoed over to the window to peek outside.

"Who is it?" I whispered.

"It's...it's Azalea's dad," she puzzled.

Closing back the window blinds, Hannah moved toward the door cautiously, and I followed her on trudging steps. The moment Hannah swung open the door, Mr. Jackson stormed inside:

"Where's Azalea!?" he barked, his words gruff and loud.

I was silent.

"I said, WHERE'S AZALEA!?"

I bowed my head in shame. "We...don't know."

He growled, eyes narrowing.

"She was still here when I left her and Hannah, but—"

"But what, Hunter?" He glared straight at me.

"W-we...think she's been kidnapped."

"Kidnapped!?"

"Mr. Jackson, please," Hannah tried. "We've been doing our best. And we think we may know how to find out where she is." She paused uneasily. "About ten minutes before you arrived, this came in." She handed him her phone, the screen illuminating White Robe's last message.

His mouth fell open. "You just got this ten minutes ago?"

"Yeah," Hannah answered, eyes darting away.

Mr. Jackson gave a heavy sigh. "Look at this," he said in a gravelly tone, fishing out his own phone and handing it to Hannah. "I was at home reading over court proceedings when I got this message. Just like the one you kids got, it came in about ten minutes ago."

Hannah stepped back and took his phone in her hands. On the screen was a pixilated rendering of Luvietta Jackson, her arms and legs chained to metal bars in what looked to be a life-sized bird cage.

"Oh, my gosh," I breathed, "White Robe's got her too."

"I guess now we know where she's been all this time," Hannah mused.

"Wait, slow down," Mr. Jackson cut in. "What's going on here? Who's White Robe?"

Hannah turned to Mr. Jackson, then to me. "Hunter, we have to tell him."

"Tell me what!?" he demanded, brows scrunched with sudden anger.

I exhaled, then looked him in the eye. "Everything."

****

"And that's all we know," I said with a sigh as Hannah and I finished explaining.

Mr. Jackson stayed silent, pondering all we'd finally revealed. "I don't understand," he said at last. "Why did you and your friends wait so long to tell anyone what was going on?"

"With all due respect, sir," I started, "we didn't know who we could trust. I mean, half the cops in this town are more crooked than a winding road, and depending on which version of the story you believe, my mom may have even been helping White Robe."

"But none of that matters now," Hannah spoke up. "Azalea and your wife are locked away somewhere with this psychopath, and we think we might be able to find them."

"How?"

"Azalea's Apple ID and password. We think we may be able to use 'Find My iPhone' to locate where she is."

He paused. "But if this killer—this 'White Robe'—is really as smart as you say he is, don't you think he'd see something like that coming?"

"Maybe," I interjected, "but it's our only shot. For all I know, we're walking into another trap. But we have to try. We're running out of time."

After a moment of silence, Azalea's dad nodded. "Alright," he said resolutely. "Where's your computer?"

Hannah took us to her bedroom and logged into her personal laptop. Once we'd pulled up the Find My iPhone website, Mr. Jackson entered Azalea's info and clicked Find iPhone. Seconds later, a map popped up and spread across the screen before dropping a teardrop-shaped pin in a radiating blue circle—marking a single building within its rounded pulsing.

"Oh my gosh," Hannah breathed. "She's at Scofield-Andrews. That freak took her to Scofield-Andrews!"

"Then that's where we're headed," I said. "Call Alex. Tell him to meet us there."

****

The scraggly darkness of the Scofield-Andrews parking lot was feebly lit by tall light posts anchored into the asphalt. As we screeched into a space marked by two grungy white lines, I glanced to my left, spotted one lone vehicle in the distance, almost entirely obscured by a row of dark green shrubs that pointed to the foggy clouds above.

That's his, I thought to myself. That's gotta be White Robe's car.

"Everyone clear on the plan?" I asked one last time.

Both Hannah and Mr. Jackson gave silent nods of approval.

I glanced quickly at my wristwatch. Midnight.

We stepped out of the car, Mr. Jackson and I out front—but just as we prepared to move, the dragging squeal of rolling tires sounded suddenly behind us.

Mr. Jackson and I were the first to whirl around, and I instinctively shielded Hannah with my left arm. I narrowed my eyes into the distance as the driver clicked off the ignition and climbed out of his car.

"P-Principal Hollendale!?" I gasped as he stood into the night. "What are you doing here?"

He paced quickly over to me, Hannah, and Mr. Jackson. "The same thing you are—saving Azalea."

I stepped back. "H-how'd you know that we were—?"

"I don't have time to explain. What matters is—"

"No!" Azalea's dad screamed. "For all we know, you could be White Robe. Now tell us what you know. Everything you know."

"Staley, your daughter is in danger! She doesn't have much time! None of us do!"

"It's because I care about my daughter that I'm doing this. Now talk!"

Principal Hollendale sighed. "I was at the party when Hunter was drugged."

WHAT!?

"I overheard Alex yelling at Callista for what she'd done. And as soon as he drove away with Stefan and Hunter, I stepped in and demanded answers."

"Wait," I interjected. "Answers? From Callista?"

He nodded, exhaling an impatient breath.

"And just what made you think she'd listen to you?"

"Because, Hunter."

"Because what?" Mr. Jackson pushed on.

He paused indignantly, uneasily. "Because she's my daughter."