I wait until the light in her window flickers on. I wait until her silhouette moves past it and disappears into the back of the apartment.
Only then can I breathe. Only then do I realize my hands are still shaking.
Eight
THEN | SISK
Something about this feels doomed from the start.
“Okay,” I say, cracking my neck the way Helen makes us do before rehearsals. “Let’s go over what we know.”
Jax is sprawled across his bed, tossing a coin and letting it roll over his knuckles. The room matches him—lived-in, arrogantly rich. Bigger than my entire living room. Everything here is nicer than anything in my place; even his trash can is full of name-brand snack wrappers I used to stare at in the grocery aisle before putting back. We don’t even buy cookies at my house. Millie makes everything from scratch because paying for the store-bought versions is “a luxury for other people.”
Ivan is on the floor, notebook open on his legs, looking like he might throw up on it. His glasses slide down his nose every few seconds, he keeps pushing them up with the back of his wrist like he’s afraid to touch his fingers to anything. He’s wearing a band T-shirt that says The Screaming Possums, which might be a real group but definitely not one anyone would brag about unless they’d given up on caring what other people think.
“All that matters is that I’m cursed,” Ivan blurts, standing so fast his pencil falls.
“Pitfire,” Jax curses, sitting up. “Can you calm down for two seconds?”
Ivan’s eyes widen. “You think this is—a joke?”
Jax snorts. “To be honest, how do we know you’re not just… I don’t know… playing us?”
“What?” Ivan looks at me urgently, like I’m the referee in a fight he didn’t ask to join.
“Jax,” I warn. “You said you’d listen.”
“Hey, you’re in my room. My house. Why the hell would I offer it if I wasn’t going to listen?”
He has a point. A rude point, but a point. I exhale. “Ivan, start from the beginning. Slowly.”
Ivan nods—shaky, but trying. “Well… everyone knows the rule. The stories. Whoever bargains with the Pit pays a price.”
“You two seriously believe this fantasy?” I ask, rubbing my temples.
Ivan shakes his head. “It’s not fantasy. My dad brings case files home. I’ve read things—things nobody at school likes to talk about. People disappear near it. People hear… voices.”
Jax flicks the coin toward Ivan like bait. Ivan makes a panicked grab for it—misses—his fingers smacking the air as the coin clatters across the floor.
Jax crosses his arms, pleased with himself. “The old rumor says if you toss in money, it’ll hiss at you.”
“That’s just Tar City urban legend,” I argue. “People here make up stories the way other towns make bake sales. I even heard someone say you canfeed it a secret.It’s all nonsense.”
Ivan’s voice darkens. “Not all of it.”
Jax leans forward. “Okay, even if this is real—which I’m not admitting—” he points at Ivan, “you’re gonna have to prove you’re not doing this for attention.”
Ivan stares at him. “Attention?”
“Oh, please,” Jax says. “Like you don’t stare at Sisk like she hung the moon and the stars and the whole damn constellation map.”
I shift, heat climbing up my neck. “Jax?—”
Ivan’s face goes violently red. “That’s not—I’m not—I don’t care if you believe me. I’m not lying.”
He steps back like he’s about to walk out.
“Wait.” I grab his sleeve. “Ivan, sit down, please.”
