She recoils before giving a decisive head shake. “No. That’s impossible, honey. It’s probably a bluff anyway. Someone trying to get you to admit to something. You’re new to town, a similar age as Gabriel’s daughter. Your uncle and I assumed a few people might ask questions once you got here.”
Like Zed, I remember. He asked how old I was the first time we met and brought up Thorn’s daughter. And everyone knows Zed is constantly sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.
A bluff. Relief flutters through me. Maybe she’s right and that’s all this is.
“So we do nothing?” I ask.
“For now. But if you get any more messages, show them to me immediately.”
“I will,” I promise.
Maggie squeezes my shoulder. “It’ll be all right, Ryan. We’ll keep an eye on it.”
Despite her reassurances, I can barely concentrate in any of my classes, my gaze slipping out the window, my mind racing. Even Everett’s playful flirting in government can’t pull me out of my mental tailspin. I’m sure that pleases Sofia immensely. When he finally gives up on trying to get a response out of me, I notice her smiling with satisfaction.
During lunch, I corner Jasmine before she can join her friends across the cafeteria. “Hey,” I start, keeping my voice low. “Have you told anyone that you’re looking for the bodies?”
“No. I’m not stupid.”
I give her a long stare. “No one? Not even Nikki or Gillian?”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh my God, I swear I haven’t told a soul. And why do you suddenly care?”
I scramble for a suitable lie. “I just think the fewer people looking, the greater our chance of getting that reward.”
“Obvs. That’s why it stays between you, me, and Con. It’s afamilymission.”
At that, she saunters toward her usual table. I watch her go, not entirely sold. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Jasmine, it’s that she’s incapable of keeping a secret for long. I know far too many personal details about people at school that I have no business knowing.
If shedidtell someone, does that mean one of Jasmine’s friends is the texter? Nikki, maybe? I can see Nikki sending creepy texts to someone.
Maybe Connor is the one who blabbed, and my texter is Kabir or one of his other football friends.
Or maybe it’s nobody from Crockett. Maybe it’s someone entirely different. Someone who’s been watching us, keeping tabs, even hacking into our messages. The thought makes me shiver. Whoever it is, they’re close enough to know not only what Jasmine has been up to, but that I’m Gabriel Thorn’s daughter. And if they truly know who I am, what’s stopping them from telling the whole town? Why haven’t they yet?
By the time the last bell rings, I’m desperate for a distraction from my paranoid thoughts. Luckily I’m provided with the perfect reprieve: dogs. Today is my first shift at the Starling animal rescue. I’m a little nervous as the school bus drops me at the corner of town and I make my way toward the shelter.
The building is small but functional, with rows of kennels lining the back room, a second space used for grooming and playtime, and a cozy office up front. As JP gives me the short tour, the dogs bark eagerly, tails wagging and paws scratching at the metal doors.
“I was hoping you could help me with one of the newer dogs,” JP tells me. “He’s a bit skittish, but I think you’ll be great with him.”
“I’ll do my best.”
We approach a small, wiry dog who’s pacing his kennel. His fur is patchy in places and his eyes are wide with fear.
JP kneels in front of the cage, speaking in a low, calm voice. “This is Rusty. He’s been through a lot, so we’re taking it slow.”
We work with Rusty for the next hour. JP shows me how toapproach him—gentle movements, soft words. Rusty is nervous at first, but JP’s patience is unshakable. It takes nearly thirty minutes just to get the terrier comfortable enough to come out of the kennel, but JP never raises his voice or rushes the dog. He keeps speaking to him like there’s all the time in the world.
“You’re good with him,” JP says, glancing at me as Rusty sniffs cautiously at my hand. “It’s all about trust, you know?”
I smile, petting Rusty’s head when he finally lets me. “Yeah, I can see that. You’re good at this too.”
He chuckles. “Years of practice.”
We make it all the way out to the front desk, Rusty getting braver and braver as he explores his surroundings. But then the door to the shelter jingles, and all our progress is lost. A startled Rusty darts toward the kennels as Nikki saunters in.
“Hi,” she says in a bored tone.
