"Thanks for picking me up, Hayds."

Juliet bumped her shoulder against Hayden's as they made their way up the path to the Prescott Dormitory. The summer night blanketed them in warm, still air, and tiny moths drifted in drowsy circles around every lamplight.

"No problem, glad I was nearby." Hayden grinned at her. "So, this gonna be your next big scoop?"

Juliet laughed. "They're not all gonna be Watergate-level exposes, you know. It's a puff piece for a charity drive and a favor to Kate. That's it."

"Glad you haven't gotten too big for your hometown, Jules. Even after you showed up on national TV and all."

She sighed, blowing strands of hair from her eyes. "Believe me, as wild as that sounds, I'm glad it's all over."

"Yeah, I feel that."

They walked in silence for a while, and Juliet thought back to the horrors they'd uncovered that other girls had to endure. Still, however hard-fought, there was no denying what they'd accomplished: they had driven a maniac out of town and embarrassed the Prescott family. If she lived to be a hundred, she didn't think she could top any of that.

Hayden spoke up again, peeling her away from darker thoughts. "So I heard a rumor..."

The hesitation in his voice made the corners of her lips quirk. "Blackwell's got plenty of those, Hayds, you gotta be careful."

"This from the girl who's always hungry for rumors. Anyway, I, uh...heard you and Zach are over. Is it true?"

Her eyes twinkled. "What's it to you?"

"Oh, you know. You're my friends. I wanna commiserate if it's true."

"With me or with him?"

"He and I ain't that close."

"So we are?"

He caught her wicked smirk and jostled her arm. "I like to think so!" Then his face grew solemn. "Bein' honest, after what happened with Nate, the circle of people I can call 'close' got smaller, you know?"

"I know. I...I actually meant to say thanks for being so supportive of me, after everything that happened. And for stopping Nathan from kidnapping our friends. You're the real hero, Hayds."

"Nah. You buried Jefferson. You did this school a whole world of good. Probably the whole country even."

"I say let's chalk it up to a team effort and call it a day."

"Gotcha." He paused, pursing his lips. "So...why did you and Zach break up?"

She huffed. "Because he was being a total dickhead. He implied that Jefferson's victims were partly responsible for what happened to them because they cozied up to a male teacher."

"Holy shit, that's messed up."

"Tell me about it. I got so disgusted I dumped him. He never even read my article. Figures, since the only thing he cares to read are football stats."

Hayden chortled. "I heard another rumor that he's hooking up with Victoria again."

"Vic? Wow, that's just sad. If it's true, Zach's a sucker for punishment."

"It's a step down, alright."

They shared a laugh as they climbed the stairs into the dorms. "It's funny," Juliet added. "I'm not even torn up about him."

"Oh?"

"It's like I outgrew him, you know? Like that movie, 'Sabrina.' I took a trip around the world and came back as someone else. Someone who doesn't have much in common with Zachary Riggins."

He gave her a sidelong glance. "I don't think you're someone else, Jules. I think who you are now is who you were all along, just waiting for a chance to shine."

"Uh-huh. Getting smooth on me, Hayden?"

"I'm totally serious!"

They paused by the stairs, facing each other, gazes locked.

Is he finally going to do it? Juliet wondered. Is he finally going to ask? What will I say if he does?

"So," he said.

"So," she echoed.

He looked down at his shoes and scratched his cheek. Juliet had never seen him shy, not Hayden. He always knew what to say to a girl.

He dragged his eyes up back to hers and said, "I was thinking, you know...Pisshead is doing a concert at Bay City Friday next week. Think that's something your adoring public would like to read about?"

"Huh." She tapped her chin. "Now that you mention it, it does sound like a great idea for the entertainment section."

"Aaaaand what would you say if I offered to come along, chauffeur you there and back, like tonight?"

It was a losing battle to keep herself from smiling; she didn't even write for the entertainment section. "I'd say the idea's got merit. But I usually get hungry after a concert, so I'll agree only if we grab dinner afterwards. My treat."

"Well," he said, that infectious grin on his lips again. They leaned closer together, as if sheltering a secret. "I don't see a downside to that. So I guess I'll be picking you up at the front steps next Friday."

"I guess you will be." With that, she turned and skipped up the stairs so he wouldn't see her face. "Sweet dreams, Hayds!"

"'Night, Jules."

Feeling like she was walking on clouds, Juliet hummed a tune as she sprang up the rest of the way to the girls' dorms. She could barely believe it. She didn't know if this was the smart thing to do or where it would lead, if Hayden would treat it like another one of his Friday night flings, or if this was something real. What was that quote Rachel liked to say? 'Love makes men swift and women slow'? But then, Juliet never could say no to an adventure. If this was all a mistake, there are worse people to make it with than Hayden Jones.

The hallway through the dorm was dim as usual. Would it kill the Prescotts to install more lights here? Unerringly, she made her way through the darkness to her room. A cursory glance at Dana's door told her that her best friend was still awake. For a moment, Juliet thought about stopping by to tell her about her date with Hayden, but thought better of it. There was zero chance of Dana keeping it to herself, and she didn't want Zack to start some drama.

She noticed there was no light under the door of Rachel's room and realized she must've snuck out with Max. Probably dragged the poor girl to some rave. She began to wonder if something was going on between those two. No lie, they'd be awfully cute together, but how would Chloe take it? Hmm, maybe I can check with Warren or Kate if they know something. They're tight with Max, after all.

Juliet pulled out her phone as she let herself into her room. She was so preoccupied with texting that it took her a second to realize someone was sitting on the edge of her bed.

"Hi there!"

Startled, Juliet nearly dropped her phone. The woman in the black suit and shades leaned back with a hand on the mattress and gave her a little wave. "Juliet Watson, right? I read your article. You write pretty well for a high school student."

There was something off-putting about the woman's grin that Juliet couldn't put her finger on. "Sorry, are you lost?" she huffed, putting her phone away. "What're you doing in my room?"

"No, no, I'm not lost," she replied. "Nor is my brother, for that matter."

Juliet's heart lodged in her throat as the door shut behind her. The man who locked it was more ogre than man, and his menacing scowl erased every thought in her head except to scream. She sucked in a breath, but enormous hands clamped around her mouth and the back of her head like a garrotte.

"Shh, shh," said the woman, appearing at Juliet's side. "It's alright, no need to be alarmed. I need you to relax." She was no longer wearing her sunglasses, and to Juliet's rising horror, her eyes were black as tar but for tiny droplets of yellow in each one. Her foot lashed out against the man's shin, but it was like kicking a concrete post.

A stray thought hit her—she hoped Dana didn't hear anything and come running, lest they hurt her too.

"Look at me," the woman crooned, her eyes boring through Juliet's mind. "You're with friends now, aren't you?"

The yellow circles in her eyes expanded, radiating a pinwheel of colors. They peeled away Juliet's panic and left a strange serenity. She felt lucid-drunk, like she had taken a shot of absinthe.

"Yes," came her reply.

The woman swayed on her feet and her companion reached out an immense hand to steady her. "I'm fine, Alrik," she muttered. "It's just a headache this time. Her will is not so strong."

She forced herself upright and faced Juliet fully. "Now, you won't mind us asking a few questions, will you, Ms. Watson?"

"Of course not."

"Good girl!" With a nod from the woman, the man let go of Juliet. "Take a seat on the bed, would you please?"

Juliet sat down, rubbing the sore part of her jaw where that man had grabbed her.

"You're a good friend of Rachel Amber, ja?" When Juliet nodded, she continued, "And did Ms. Amber put you up to writing that famous article of yours?"

"Yes. Rachel was the one who alerted me to Mark Jefferson's crimes."

The woman bobbed on the balls of her feet. "See?" she said to the giant, "I told you he was telling us the truth!" The woman plopped down on the mattress next to Juliet. "I'm guessing she also instigated the theft of the laptop?"

"Yes, she planned it and pulled it off with the help of her friends, Chloe and Max."

"Interesting. And do you know the identity of the hacker who used the laptop?"

Juliet nodded once. "Brooke Scott. She's a Blackwell student who lives here in the dorms."

"Why don't you give us a picture of her? And her room number, too."

Without hesitation, Juliet took her cell phone and found a picture of her with Brooke. She held it up to the woman. "Her room's 220."

The woman took her phone and peered down at the screen. "Is she there now?"

"No, her slate said something about a book club meeting at the Bean Hip Cafe tonight."

"Is the laptop in her room?"

"I don't know. She said she hid it and won't say where."

"Ah well." The woman shrugged. "You can't win them all, I suppose. Don't worry, little brother, we'll find another way. And you did quite well telling us all this, Juliet." The woman stood up and smoothed Juliet's hair like she was a little girl. "You've been very good."

The praise lit Juliet up inside, like she'd been given an award for something she never expected to be good at. "Happy to help."

"Well then." The woman sighed and slipped Juliet's phone into her jacket. "I suppose we should keep our end of the bargain with Jefferson, ja?" The woman motioned to the man, who answered with a look of undisguised contempt.

Jefferson? Juliet frowned. What does he have to do with this?

"Come on, Alrik," the woman said. "We made a promise! And it's better this way. We send the Incarnate a message."

Juliet became even more confused when the man produced a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his jacket. When she gave the woman a questioning look, she merely smiled at her. "I want you to lie down now, Juliet. Sleep so deep you won't wake up for anything. It's alright. That's my good girl. Sleep."

Drowsiness settled over Juliet like a soft, warm blanket. She stretched out on her bed and lay her head on her pillow. The last thing she saw as she closed her eyes was the woman standing close by, a lit cigarette in hand.

"Goodnight, my dear. Dream of boys falling at your feet."

Rachel commanded her tornado to set her down in a shadowy corner of the Blackwell gymnasium. The night had crawled into the wee hours of the morning; for once, she wanted nothing more than to sink into her bed and deep into oblivion. Too much had happened in one night for her to sort through.

The news of Lulu losing her family was devastating. Contacting the Storm Ravens had been her idea in the first place, and try as she might, she could not get Lulu's accusing eyes and angry words out of her head.

"Choose who lives and who dies"—that decision still hung over her. She, the daughter of the D.A., was expected to play judge, jury, and executioner of the Prescott family. Any other time, she would have laughed.

Is this all I'm good for? Destroying things?

She was grateful, then, that Chloe found a way to delay the matter. That was Chloe for you. Though that act may be the last vestige of their relationship, it kept her sanity intact tonight.

She was willing to kill for you, Rachel. Max's voice rang clear in her head, and Rachel gave a rueful smile. In your timeline, Max.

She wished Max was here with her, but the brunette had opted to stay with Lulu. And Chloe, of course. Bereft of their company, Rachel felt unmoored, a kite without its string. In all that had happened, Max would likely have forgotten that only a few hours ago Rachel had confessed her love for her. But then, who had room to think about that now?

Sighing, Rachel turned the corner leading into the school courtyard and instantly halted.

The lampposts were the first sign something was wrong—they were hazier than normal, like they were enveloped by a thin mist. No, not mist. Her nostrils caught it—the acrid scent of smoke. Across the open grounds, red and blue lights flashed from the driveway next to the dorms.

A hard knot formed in Rachel's gut. She broke into a run, sprinting past the Blackwell statue and through the gate leading to the dorms. It's probably a prank gone wrong. Maybe someone tried to light up a paper bag of dogshit at Principal Well's door and things got out of hand.

But there was an ambulance parked next to the Principal's quarters. On the main road to her right were stationed two fire trucks, hoses snaking out toward the building. The sight of them made her heart speed and her breath go shallow. She let her feet carry her down the path toward the dorms. Passing the ambulance, she turned the corner—and froze, the hairs on her flesh standing on end.

Coming down the path toward her were two white-clad paramedics rolling a stretcher between them. On it lay a body covered from head to toe with a pristine white cloth and held down with leather straps. She reached out a hand to stop them and ask what happened, but they ignored her and pushed on toward the ambulance's open doors.

Heart knocking painfully against her ribs, Rachel ran to the dorm's front lawn. Beneath the thin haze of smoke, a crowd had gathered on the grass, wearing sleepwear and frightened faces. Ms. Grant was there, looking disheveled, attempting to comfort a weeping Taylor. So was Principal Wells, standing on the pathway as he spoke with the Fire Department Chief. More firefighters were emerging from the seemingly undamaged dorms, their radios filling the air with an ominous chatter.

Rachel spotted her friends clustered around the nearest bench and rushed toward them. There was Brooke, hugging herself as she paced in slow, tight circles. Warren was slumped against the back of the bench with his head hung low. Hayden sat on the grass with his knees to his chest, reddened eyes staring at nothing. Sitting on the bench was Kate, her arm around a shuddering Dana, who was hunkered down with her face in her hands, one of which was bandaged. Even Victoria was there, clad only in a bathrobe, her lips trembling and bloodless.

Rachel hadn't even reached them before asking, "Is everyone okay? What happened?" Not a single one answered, their eyes turning away when she tried to catch their gaze. The silence that hung over them was as dark and cloying as the smoke still lingering in the air. Only then did Rachel realize—

No.

"Where's Juliet?" The words fell from her lips. She had to know. She was afraid to ask.

The silence became something worse—an enclosed space that amplified the sound of Dana weeping into her hands.

Please no.

"I tried to save her," Dana sobbed. "I tried." Beside her, Kate tightened her arms around her shoulders.

The earth swayed beneath Rachel's feet. She sank to her knees next to Dana and laid a shaking hand on her arm. "How?" she murmured. "How did it happen?"

"I...I smelled smoke creeping into my room," Dana began. "I tried to ignore it at first, but it grew stronger, and it—" she swallowed. "It smelled like burning hair.

"I ran out into the hallway and saw smoke coming out of Juliet's door. I shouted for her and tried to open it, but it was locked. The doorknob—it burned my hand. I just stood there screaming, then the alarm went off and Brooke arrived with the extinguisher. We hit the door until it opened, but everything was smoke and fire and—Juliet—she couldn't have—"

Beside them, a sob escaped Hayden's lips. He clamped his hands over his mouth to suppress it only for the tears to leak from his eyes. Warren gripped his shoulder to comfort him.

All feeling had fled from Rachel's skin. She squeezed Dana's arm to ask her to stop, but the words spilled on from her lips.

"The firefighters are saying—she was smoking in bed—that's what caused the fire, but...but Juliet wouldn't do that! She doesn't even keep an ashtray in her room!" She held Rachel's hand in a death grip, bloodshot eyes begging. "Juliet would never do that, right?"

Behind them, someone else answered for her. "No," Victoria stated. "She wouldn't. Not our Jules." And it was true. For all her risk-taking, Juliet treated dorm rules like the Bible, and—

Rachel could no longer see Dana's face; everything had dissolved into a blur. Her fingers had gone numb. She could barely hear anything through her own harsh breathing, couldn't feel herself collapse to sit on the pavement. This isn't happening. We were winning. How could this happen?

But it could, and it did. And it was no accident—Rachel would be damned if that were true. Juliet dying after publishing her expose on Jefferson? No. This was retaliation. A message. A murder. Only one man in town had the power to make it seem like an accident. And by not being here, Rachel had let him do it.

Beside her, Dana was sobbing again. Kate gently rubbed her back to comfort her.

Presently, heavy footsteps approached. Wiping her eyes, Rachel turned to find Principal Wells standing nearby, deep lines on his careworn face. He cleared his throat and said, "I have no words to convey how deeply sorry I am about this tragedy." He paused, looking into each of their faces. "But I will spare no effort in helping everyone who's been affected. Any of you who can go to your homes, should. I've contacted the bus driver to take you where you need to go around Arcadia Bay. For those who can't, I'll have the auditorium prepped with sleeping bags so you can rest for the night. Ms. Grant will lead you—"

He was interrupted by the sound of more approaching footsteps. Sheriff Skinner came into view, fully uniformed and wearing his ten-gallon hat, a pair of junior officers trailing behind him like a pair of sniffer dogs. The sight of him made Rachel's blood run cold and set off alarms in her mind. Him. Here. Now. Why?

"Principal Wells," Skinner said with a nod.

"Sheriff Skinner," Wells greeted back. "I'm glad you're with us."

"Helluva night. Good thing the fire was limited to a single room, but sorry to hear you lost a student."

"That...yes, it's an unbearable misfortune for us all."

"The firefighters described it as more of a misadventure. Seems the smoke detector in the room was disabled while the victim was smoking in bed."

"She...she wouldn't do that!" Dana cried. "She's always telling us not to tamper with them! Principal Wells, Juliet would never!"

Rachel found her voice. "You're right, Dana," she agreed, getting to her feet. "Not Juliet. She's an upstanding student who followed the dorm's rules. Everyone here can back that up."

The Sheriff merely shrugged. Clearly sweating, Wells cleared his throat. "In any case, let's all gather at the auditorium and—"

"Actually," Skinner said.

A few more ridges appeared on Wells' forehead. "Was there something else, Sheriff?"

"In fact, I'm here on a separate matter."

"I'm sure this can wait till—"

"Given the state of the building, it really can't." He inclined his head to the side. After a moment, Wells followed him and the other officers to a corner of the lawn.

Rachel watched them go, her scowl deepening. Lulu had warned them that the Sheriff was Prescott's creature, the one who tipped off his two assassins. He didn't even have to come himself—a single deputy would've been enough. Why was he here?

Wells returned moments later, followed by Skinner. "All the students except Brooke Scott, please head to the auditorium."

Brooke froze, her eyes growing saucer-wide behind her glasses. "Wait—why me?"

"Because we'll be searching your dorm room, Ms. Scott," the Sheriff answered, sticking his thumbs into his belt.

"Just what exactly do you think you'll find?"

"We'll all know it when we do. I'll need your cooperation, along with everyone else's."

"You can't just search my room for no reason!"

"I have Principal Well's approval. Now if the rest of you could just—

All the blood rushed to Rachel's head. Enough. "We're not leaving," she stated.

The Sheriff raised an eyebrow. "That wasn't a request."

She faced him, mustering every inch of her height against his. "One of our friends just died, sir. We're staying to support our own. And I hope you take a moment to think before searching someone's private quarters. The 4th Amendment says that even though the school owns the dorms, students still have a right to privacy. If you want to search Brooke's room, or anyone else's, you're going to have to ask a judge for a warrant. That would be the standard procedure, correct?"

Murmurs of assent went up from their group. Gazes switched between Skinner and Rachel, neither of whom budged. Eventually, Wells spoke up. "I'm no lawyer, Sheriff, but I think Ms. Amber here has the right of it."

"I reckon so," the Sheriff drawled, not taking his eyes off of Rachel's. "I'd expect nothing less from the daughter of the District Attorney—and someone who had her own run-in with the law in much the same fashion."

Rachel's face burned, but she held up her chin and stood her ground.

"That said..." Skinner smirked, turning to the Principal. "University officials can enter a dorm room for an inspection. Isn't that right, Principal Wells?"

Wells looked very uncomfortable with the idea. "Exactly what would you have me do? I'm not an expert in these matters, Hank. I can't tell you immediately if something's evidence of wrongdoing."

"You won't have to." Skinner turned to his right and called to someone. "Mr. Madsen! A moment please."

Caught off guard, Rachel turned to find David Madsen approaching from the dorm entrance.

"Mr. Madsen," said Skinner, "Will you perform a routine search of a dorm room for us?"

"A search isn't exactly routine," Madsen replied, frowning. "What are we looking for, exactly?"

"I'll brief you on it. But will you do it?"

Madsen eyed the gathering, his mustache twitching. Then he nodded. "Fine."

It took everything Rachel had not to call down lightning to cook these fools. Instead, she watched as the Sheriff and Madsen stepped to the side to talk and Wells called for Ms. Grant. Then someone pulled at her arm. She turned to face Brooke, her dark eyes bright with terror.

"What do we do?" she whispered. "They'll find the laptop for sure!"

Rachel drew in a breath to steady herself. "It's going to be fine," she murmured. "I'll handle it."

"You don't get it!" Her fingernails dug into Rachel's arm. "I can't be arrested! You have no idea what my mom will do to me if she finds out!"

Rachel gripped the other girl's shoulders as if to physically keep her from falling apart. "Brooke, I swear I won't let that happen. Just tell me where you hid it."

Brooke swallowed hard. "T-there's a loose panel in the ceiling of my room. I stashed it there."

"Okay." Rachel's mind raced. "Here's the plan. They're gonna bring you with them to our rooms. I need you to stall for a few minutes. Make something up—pretend to twist your ankle as you're going up the stairs. Just buy me some time."

Brooke nodded. "What're you gonna do?"

"I'll figure that out in a moment. But whatever you do, don't tell them anything. They'll threaten and intimidate you, but they can't do anything if you don't say a word."

Rachel stepped back as Ms. Grant approached. "Brooke, I need you to go with Mr. Madsen and the Sheriff," she said. "The rest, please follow me to the auditorium."

"Ms. Grant." Victoria strode forward. "With all due respect, we can't just leave her—"

"I'm afraid we have to comply for now." The science teacher turned to Brooke. "If there's nothing to be found in your room, then you've got nothing to worry about."

With a final, pleading look at Rachel, Brooke trudged toward the dorm entrance where the Sheriff and David were waiting. The rest of the group let Ms. Grant herd them toward the main building.

Rachel hung back to the rear of the moving crowd. As the rest proceeded into the Blackwell courtyard, she ducked behind the driveway wall and sprinted to the rear of the dormitory. When she got under Brooke's open window, she flew up to it and let herself inside.

She didn't linger; the air still carried that horrific burnt smell. Thankfully, the laptop was exactly where Brooke said it was, hidden in a crawlspace in the ceiling above her bed. Rachel let herself out the window just as footsteps were coming down the hall. The tornado carried her up, up to the stockroom on the main building's top floor, where she stashed the laptop behind some cardboard boxes. That done, Rachel let herself back out the window and floated down to the ground.

That should buy us time, she thought as she sprinted toward the auditorium. Later, when the coast was clear, she would have someone bring the laptop to Chloe, who would get rid of it for them.

Rachel would deal with the harder job.

She wanted to grieve. She wanted to melt the cars in the junkyard down to smoldering bits of scrap. She wanted to drink herself sick and let oblivion swallow her whole.

But first, she was going to burn Sean Prescott to ashes.