Mom and I ride in the car in silence. The morning sun glares from behind the visors in the car. It's seven o'clock, and Mom is dropping me off at the cafe before she heads to work. My plan to meet Isabella works out perfectly.

"Are you sure you'll be okay studying there by yourself?" Mom asks.

"Of course. With a latte and some pastries for breakfast, I'll be the epitome of productivity." I force a grin, but it lacks any levity. I can't shake my fears, my mounting anxiety, over the messages I discovered. Our plan to catch the killer doesn't help because if I am the killer, I don't want to be in a situation where it may happen again.

We drive a bit more in silence. The light turns red, and Mom breaks at an intersection before we reach the cafe. A thought circles back in my mind, a name from the school's student records.

Amber Anderson.

There's probably a gazillion Ambers out there, but I can't help but think of the Amber I know, my therapist. I actually don't know her last name; to me, she's always just been Amber. It's unlikely that she's the same as the one in the database, and yet...

My eyes follow the cars crossing the intersection. I've been wondering about this for a while but haven't figured out how to ask Mom about it.

"Mom, does Amber have any enhanced senses?" I ask.

Mom's head whips toward me. "Huh? What do you mean?"

"I mean, she's never mentioned it, but I was just curious."

"What makes you curious?" Her sunglasses hide her eyes, and the rest of her face expressionless. The light turns green, and she drives up the road.

"Well, I talk a lot about the... struggles I've had with my enhanced sense, and I was wondering if she had something similar."

"Therapists are very insightful people," Mom says.

I nod slightly. "Yes, but does she have an enhanced sense?"

Mom eases the car into the five-minute parking space in front. "Have you ever asked her?"

"No."

"Then why don't you?"

"Do you know?"

Mom pauses, her head pointed down toward the bottom of her steering wheel. "I've had, um, thoughts of it. But we don't typically discuss such things." Mom's lips press in a tight smile. Then, she fumbles for her purse, supplying two ten dollar bills. "Why don't you order an extra treat for this afternoon? You can get something for Zoe, too."

"Sure." I don't plan on it since I'm going to the buffet, which Mom doesn't know about. She thinks we're just going to the library to study. I hop out of the car. The door shuts, and Mom drives off. It's only after her car rounds the corner that I realize that she didn't really answer my question.

Isabella waits at the counter, staring at her phone. She glances up when the bell jingles overhead.

"Hey." She waves to me, and a small charm bracelet flicks around her wrist.

"Hey. Thanks again for meeting with me."

"No problem. Know what you want?"

I nod. Isabella approaches Brian, who's behind the counter and orders.

"You work mornings, too?" I ask when it's my turn.

"I picked up an extra shift today," Brian says. "Just don't tell my teachers or the school since I technically called in sick."

"Your secret is safe with me," I say with a laugh. I get what it's like to need to work extra to save more than other families. Growing up with a single parent means you have to stretch money further. Honestly, I don't know how many sacrifices Mom has made to get the money to send me to the private Eralyn Academy. "I'll have a cheese danish and a pistachio white chocolate latte."

"Decaf?" Brian asks. I nod. "Coming right up." I insert my credit card in the machine and pull it out. Another seven dollars flows from my pockets, wasted on sweet treats. At least we're supporting a local small business.

After getting our drinks, Isabella and I sit down. Isabella raises an eyebrow as I blow on my coffee.

"Decaf? In the morning?" she asks.

I shrug. "Caffeine makes me jittery sometimes." And anxious.

Isabella shrugs, taking a sip of her pumpkin spice cold brew. "Whatever works for you."

"I see you're all about pumpkin."

"It's just that season, you know." She breaks off a piece of her pumpkin scone. "Besides, their scones are to die for." Her expression darkens. "Sorry, not appropriate." She swallows another sip of coffee. "Also, sorry about the way I reacted the other day when you mentioned Evan, by the way. It's just, I'm so sick of hearing about Evan. Everyone thinks he was so chill, but he had major issues."

"Like what?"

Isabella sighs. "He just acted strange at times. Like I really dont get how other people didn't see it. He was so anxious at times it was like he could barely cope."

This definitely hits too close to home.

"Anxious in what way?"

"Okay for starters he seemed pretty cool when we first met. Then he became super controlling when I started wearing makeup and kept telling me to stop putting it on. He said he hated the smell, and the chemicals were too strong for him. Then he started saying that he couldn't see me during that time of the month. He started out just making excuses or cutting our time spent together short even when we made plans. In July, he told me point blank that if we continued our relationship, we couldn't see each other at that time. That's when I broke up with him."

"That's crazy," I say.

"Yeah. I genuinely have no clue how or why no one else saw that side of him. The only thing I can think of was that he wanted a power trip and so he dated people for that."

Or maybe the close nature of the relationship changed his expectations and needs.

"I think it was related to his enhanced sense to be honest." Isabella nibbles her scone.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I think he had a problem smelling certain compounds in the air. The only connection I made between everything is iron."

"Iron?"

Isabella huffs. "That's another thing. He had a problem with me taking my iron supplement around him. I have anemia, so to have him asking me not to take it with lunch when we went out to eat really hurt. It makes a person feel like their needs don't matter. He never ate red meat either and asked me not to order it. Again, anemic here. It got worse and worse until July." Isabella shakes her head. "I just can't believe someone would think they can get away with being that controlling."

"Was he mean about it?"

Isabella thinks while sipping her coffee. "He seemed more nervous and wired than anything. I think he should've been in counseling or on some kind of meds. He seriously needed help. I mean, he can't go his whole life avoiding blood, iron, and red meat."

It is awfully strange. Why that particular compound was so bothersome to him perplexes me.

"So he wasn't getting treatment?"

"He never said anything to me."

"Did he ever make rash decisions or seem out of control?"

"His requests were out of control." Isabella drinks her cold brew. "But otherwise no."

"Do you think he could've been self medicating? Using something like Xanax?"

"Maybe." Isabella stares at the remaining crumbs on the brown bag her scone came in. "But his uptight behavior always had a stimulus. It wasn't highs and lows like an addict. And I only seem to have had this problem. People who went on dates before were fine, though I guess it was only one date, not like an actual relationship."

I make a mental note to find out if Evan was vegetarian.

"Interesting."

Brushing her hands off, Isabella stands. "Hate to cut our conversation off so soon, but I have to get to school early. See you around."

"See ya."

Isabella leaves, tossing her paper bag on the way out and tucking her coffee into the drink holder on the side of her backpack.

I take another bite of gooey cheese and crisp pastry from the warm, slightly sweet danish. Evan still could've been self medicating, but it seems less likely now. I'm convinced he had strong anxiety, though. Just like me, he had trouble with his enhanced sense, something relating to the smell of iron.

The smell of blood.