It's a bright day the next morning. The sun glistens over the trees in the arboretum. Our group has claimed a gazebo away from the visitors passing by. An earthy smell fills my nostrils from the nearby flowers and grass. Fall leaves are falling from the trees, coating the concrete floor and tables in red, yellow, and burnt orange.

My fingers twitch around my phone. The screen lights up with the time, ten minutes past eleven in the morning. I turn it off, sighing to myself. I just want this project to be over with. Last night, I fell asleep on my laptop and woke up an hour before I needed to leave. I did some quick project research in the car, adrenaline propelling me to work instead of ruminate. But now, as my group members painstakingly draw the map of France on a giant piece of construction board, all I can think about is Evan.

My eyes zero in on Hannah despite myself. Zoe and I stayed up for hours talking through theories. Even after Mom came home, we continued to whisper about the case. I hope she didn't overhear me, but she didn't say anything about it this morning during breakfast.

A breeze sweeps by, sending a chill scurrying into my bones. I hug my red windbreaker tighter around me.

"Can you hold the corner?" Hannah asks me. I place a hand on it, and my left hand raises to cover my mouth as I yawn. When I glance at the others, I find Brooklyn looking at me from across the table while the boys work on drawing the third mountain range.

I place my hand on the corner. The cool air fills my lungs, cleansing them from all the toxicity and negative energy pulsing through my body. My eyes flutter shut, then open again when I realize just how weird it is for me to have my eyes closed. My gaze lands on Brooklyn again, who quickly averts her blue eyes. She props her leg up on the bench, her bony knee poking up from the other side of the table through the rips in her jeans.

"Okay, I think we're in pretty good shape," Steven says. The wind tossles his long, straight hair. Seriously, why do some guys look like they have strands of silk hanging from their heads?

Hannah shakes her head. "We've barely done anything." Her eyes surreptitiously land on me, and I shrink in my seat, feeling guilty at the poor quality of my work. While Steven, Brooklyn, and Henry started on the map right away, Hannah and I spent half an hour trying to cross-check my work and get more detailed information. It's like I've let her down.

I feel guilty about that... until I remember that it was her secrets that kept me up for hours last night, procrastinating on my work. Not an excuse, but an explanation.

"We still have to do the towns and major events in the towns." Steven flops onto the bench with his back to the table. He leans against it with a sigh. "Maybe we should just finish tomorrow."

Hannah glances at her Apple watch. "We still have forty-five minutes until noon. We can break for lunch and then resume this afternoon." Henry groans, and Hannah glares at him. "Dude, it's due on Monday. We don't want to put this off."

"Yeah we do," Henry says.

One thing I notice about Hannah is that she's really nice, until she isn't. She's got a commanding streak. She told me that she often takes charge during rehearsals to make sure people do their parts right. Could she have also tried to take charge of Evan, steering their friendship in a direction he didn't want to go in? Or maybe there was animosity between them due to her wanting to direct him too much during the school plays. Perhaps easy-going Evan just wanted the theatrical moments to happen, while Hannah wanted to control the scene and turn it into her own vision, which differed from his.

But to kill over that seems petty.

Wait, didn't the drama club members say something about a theater competition? I wonder if Hamlet was supposed to be prepared for a competition.

"Madelyn!"

My head snaps up to see Brooklyn staring at me from across the table. She looks annoyed, like she's been calling me for a long time.

"What's up?" I say, trying to seem casual. I'm grateful for the brisk air on my face, cooling the heat rising in my cheeks.

Hannah sighs. "Perhaps we should just take a break."

"Thank all the robots and video game characters," Henry says. He pushes his black, square glasses up on his nose. "I need to use the restroom."

"I'm hungry," Steven says. "Do they have a snack bar here?"

"Why did we even meet here in the first place?" Henry asks.

"The fresh air can do us good, remember?" Hannah says. "It's not good to work in a stifling room. It dampens creativity."

"This isn't a particularly creative assignment," Steven says. "More like just putting information on a poster."

"We'll break for ten minutes, then return at eleven-thirty," Hannah says. "Now get moving. We want to finish sooner rather than later."

The boys race from the table, up the walkway shrouded with flowers and overgrown plants toward the main house.

"I need a breather, too," Hannah admits. "I think I'm going to take a walk." Hannah stands, stretching her smooth, light brown arms overhead. She then starts down a path, into the flowers and plants. I soon lose sight of her.

Brooklyn lifts her pen and continues writing on the poster. My eyes focus on it for a second, watching the sharp tip cut letters in black ink across the page. After a minute, Brooklyn looks up.

"Are you going to help?" she asks flatly.

"Uh..." I glance around. No one is in sight, not even a few tourists meandering through the plants. I guess October isn't people's choice season to visit the arboretum. "I think I'm going to take a walk, stretch my legs a bit. It'll help get my brain going again."

Brooklyn purses her lips, but doesn't say anything. No one is forcing you to continue working, I tell her silently.

I descend the three steps leading up to the awning. It's not that I don't like Brooklyn. She's just very quiet, and sometimes seems ticked off by everyone around her. She's quite different from her twin brother, Brian, who seems more mellow. I never imagined him to be an active drama club member, but sometimes personalities can surprise you.

A pang of guilt and sympathy pierces me. She doesn't have many friends it seems, unlike Brian, who has the entire drama club to rally around him. Perhaps I should go back and keep her company, try to strike up a conversation. I pause at the bottom of the steps, glancing over my shoulder. She's staring at her phone, pen in hand. I quickly turn around before she sees me staring and continue down the pathway.

I just feel uncomfortable sitting there alone with her. The pen was really the last straw. The point is so sharp, so reminiscent of a needle, a knife.

Knife. Weapon. Blood. Death.

It always goes back there, doesn't it? The logic flows smoother than water, every thought circling back there.

I try to be present with the fading colors around me, the bright oranges and reds covering the floor. But it's hard when the plants are drooping, and it feels like death and decay are present all around. Life is fading away, just like in the auditorium.

Just like in that dream I've had twice now.

I shake my head of those thoughts, wandering deeper into the foliage. My thoughts swirl and billow in my head like the wind around me. My hair sweeps off my neck, and I tighten my coat around my shoulders. Warmth presses a little more around me, but a chill still seeps through the red threads of my jacket.

I get lost in the investigation, in Evan's death, Miss Laybrook, Drake, the drama club members, Isabella. We seriously need to speak to Isabella. I walk deeper into the foliage. Slowly, a sensation creeps onto my skin, a warmth overriding the chill in the air.

My blood runs cold. The heat is suffocating rather than comforting. It's the energy of a life present, not too far away.

"W-who's there?" I stammer, then instantly regret it. Fear sparks my heart into a running pace. I turn around, about to leave, when a thump hits the ground. Ice freezes in my veins. I feel too stiff to move, yet still, I force myself to slowly turn around. There's a rustling in the thick foliage shrouding the path, then the branches are still. The heat quickly evaporates from my skin, leaving cold in its wake.

It is extra cold this time.

I glance behind me. Thick plants wave their branches, covered in shriveled, brown leaves, and block my view of the gazebo we were sitting in. I turn back around, waiting one second, two, three, four, five.

There's nothing, not a sound.

Maybe it was just an animal.

I can't quite bring myself to believe it. I have to know for certain what that sound was, what life I just sensed.

Could I have imagined it? Perhaps it was just a visitor to the gardens who strayed into my perimeter of sensing.

The not-knowing gets me every time. Curiosity gets me every time. Slowly, I inch forward. A path materializes through the plants, leading through the foliage. I step along the stone path, formed of cobblestone. Branches encroach on the path, catching in my hair and cutting into my cheeks. I ignore it all, shoving some branches aside as my feet pick up speed. I don't sense anyone else around, even though I'm running toward the sensation I felt. If a visitor had been here, would they have left this area so quickly? What—?

My thoughts stop short, as do my feet. I stare at the ground, a scream welling in my throat.

It rips free. The shriek rings through the air, echoing off trees and carrying through the wind.

No, no, no!

My heart beats at a million miles per hour. I can hardly think over the thousands of thoughts screaming in my head, all trying to be heard over the rushing in my ears. There's a boy lying on the ground, rolled onto his side. His brown eyes are wide open, staring straight at me.

No life flickers in his pupils. No life emanates from him.

He is dead.