Slowly, I return to consciousness. There's something drawing me from sleep, not light or a sound, or any sort of physical stimuli. It's a feeling, the feeling that someone has just entered my room.

There's another presence in my room. There's a person in my room. Heat radiates up my arms, creeping closer. It starts as a single source, then splits into two waves of heat radiating in opposite directions. They diverge then converge, then swirl up my arms, across my shoulders, down my back.

I bolt upright in a panic. My chest is heaving blood racing through my veins.

My thoughts descend into terror. Who is it? Who's there?

I'm too afraid to cry out. All I can feel is someone, two people, creeping closer. The heat dances just close enough to scare me. I can't tell distance, all I can sense is the faint presence.

Faint presence. Doesn't that mean that they aren't too close?

They could be getting closer.

Slowly, I get out of bed to investigate. My feet hit the carpet, and I pad across the room, to where the moon is shining outside my window. The pale glow illuminates a stuffed animal on the floor, a rocking chair in the corner beside a miniature bookshelf. When the angle is right, calligraphic scripts glitter gold and silver.

Pink tulle curtains, much akin to cotton candy, are pulled back so I can see outside the window. There's a giant tree outside, and its branches crane to the house next door...

Something vibrates in my pocket. I reach into my jeans, my fingers closing around my phone case. Bzz, bzz, bzz, bzz. It sends electric pulses to my nerves, striking my bones with little jolts.

My eyes focus on the messages that keep popping up.

Date. Date. Date.

My brow furrows. I don't understand.

Date. Date. You missed the date.

What date? What is a date?

There's a heart-shaped icon on the black notification. White text scrawls beside it. All I can register is "date."

Half of the heat evaporates from my skin, like a candle snuffed out. A life snuffed out. Ice is left in its wake. It penetrates my bones, so poignant that the remaining life is but a whisper against my skin. The heat isn't enough to replace what was lost.

***

My jaws stretch in a yawn as I take my seat beside Zoe at the lunch table. Today, they're serving chicken salad on croissants, alongside fruit and a fresh green dressed with balsamic vinaigrette. They always serve fruit and a salad. The school prides itself for serving high quality, fresh ingredients to students.

Zoe's brow creases across the table. "You look tired."

"Did I do that bad a job with the concealer?" I sigh. Over the past few days, dark purple bags sunk under my eyes from many sleepless nights. It started out with the recurring nightmare, which has progressed so that I am no longer in my room. I'm in a different bedroom, in a house that's familiar, yet so fuzzy in my head that I can't place it. Now, I'm terrified that I'll wake up in a cold sweat again, the ghostly feeling of something buzzing in my hand, the feeling of death shivering on my skin, that I can hardly go to sleep. I toss and turn, fueling insomnia. I told Amber about the dreams yesterday, and she said that maybe upping my medication dosage will help.

I really hope it does. This recurring dream has set me on edge lately.

"I can't see the eye bags," Zoe says. "But your eyes still droop."

"Hey, hey," Graysen says. She approaches the table, a smile on her face. She's wearing a plaid skirt and stockings that tuck into her ankle-length boots. Her fuzzy white sweater ices the cake: she's the preppiest girl in school.

"Hey, come join," Priya says, scooting over. She wipes the vegan mayo from around her mouth. Graysen has joined us more and more frequently, sometimes with other members of the cheer team. I find myself retreating in on myself, interacting less with my friends and other classmates, other than Zoe, Hannah, and the kids in my enhanced sense class.

"What's happening?" Graysen says. "By the way, I wanted to discuss costumes for the fall dance show this year." Priya and Graysen start talking. I glance at the entrance, but Autumn isn't here. She's probably working late on a chemistry assignment again.

"So what next in the investigation realm?" Zoe asks. "We have alibis for Hannah and Pierce, but what about the other drama club members?"

"Have you talked to any of them?"

Zoe shakes her head. "Been busy. I had a major project for my enhanced sense class."

"Me neither." My eyes fall on my meal, but I don't feel like eating.

Zoe drizzles extra vinaigrette onto her salad. "I mean, should we try to get alibis?"

"I don't think it's realistic to talk to all of them." My index finger pokes the croissant, watching the dough crackle and spring back.

"We could check their social media, though."

"Yes, but that isn't definitive. Just because someone didn't post a photo on Instagram doesn't make them a killer, or suggest they were doing something shady. They could've been doing homework, and there's no way to prove it."

"Fine, but we need to at least talk to Drake again," Zoe says with a sigh. "Maybe we can strike up a conversation about drama club and tech theater, then maneuver that into what he's doing now for extra curricular activities. And then we can figure out his whereabouts during the murders." She stabs a piece of lettuce, then pauses. "And what about Miss Laybrook?"

I tear off a piece of croissant and slowly chew the buttery pastry. "We really need to get a look at the school records. She's hiding something."

"Why?" Graysen's voice cuts in from across the table.

I glance over at Graysen, and immediately flounder. "I, uh, um..."

Zoe sighs. "We wanted to find out something about a former teacher here."

"Why?" Graysen repeats. She takes a bite of salad, glancing between us in a no-nonsense way.

I take a sip of water, debating what to say. To my surprise, I tell the truth. "I'm concerned I might've gotten her fired. She was super nice about it when we saw her last, but I'm still concerned. It's going to bother me if I can't find out."

Graysen nods, eyes full of sympathy. "I can understand that. But how are you going to access school records?"

"That's the big question," Zoe sighs.

"What's up?" Autumn appears at my side, sliding into the seat to my left.

"We're trying to figure out how to access the school records," Graysen says.

Autumn's brow creases. "Isn't that... illegal?"

"We're not changing grades or anything," I say. "I just want to know why Miss Laybrook left."

"I heard she was fired," Graysen says.

"Yes, but why?"

Autumn stares down at her food. "What would that even entail?" She waits a beat before lifting her croissant. "Hacking the school computers?" she asks with her mouth full.

"I guess." I hadn't really considered it. "The problem is that I don't really know how."

"Do you think it's on the school computers in the front office?" Graysen asks.

"Maybe. I really have no idea." A slight wave of light-headedness comes over me, and I finally pinch the plastic fork between my fingers and lift a bite of fruit to my lips.

"How about a file in the principal's office?" Zoe suggests.

Autumn sets her croissant down, brushing crumbs from her fingers. "I mean, I want to help you out and all, but it just seems too risky. I'm okay with technology, but if something goes wrong, I'm in big trouble."

Graysen glances between us, then sets her fork down. "Okay, I know I shouldn't be helping with this, but I might be able to."

"Really?" I brighten. "You can hack the school computers?"

Graysen twists a strand of hair over her finger. "I might know someone."

"Who?"

"Brooklyn works in the front office with me as her elective. She might be able to download the information you want to a flash drive. If she gets caught, she'll probably have a better excuse, too."

"So you'll be there to help?" I ask.

"Yes, I think we can both work together and find a way to get the information you need. Just tell me exactly what you are looking for."

I describe what we want: information on why Miss Laybrook was fired, telling the date range to look for and what type of file it might be under.

"I'll do my best," Graysen says. She takes her final bite of salad, and leans back while chewing. "I never imagined myself as the spy type, but mission impossible, here I come."