Page 99 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

“Oh, absolutely,” I said. “Most people don’t even know EXIF data exists. They use ‘password’ as their password. Post their birthdays. Share locations in real time. People treat cybersecurity like it’s optional.”

“That’s incredibly disturbing,” Jason muttered, already pulling out his phone.

Rick looked shaken. “I feel like I need to delete my entire existence.”

“That would honestly improve your online presence,” I told him.

Cassidy snorted into her soda. “God, I love you.”

Across the table, Lia’s smile had tightened at the edges. She picked up her fork again and said nothing more. But her eyes stayed on me a beat too long.

I smiled like I didn’t notice.

Chapter 30: Ten Years

I woke up before the sun. For a few seconds I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the soft tap of rain against the window. The room was dim and still, the kind of quiet that made it too easy to think.

Then I checked the time on my phone. 5:12 a.m.

I already knew I wasn't going to school. Yesterday had been the same. Cassidy's texts sat unanswered, along with Jackson's. I didn't have the energy to pretend I was fine or explain why I wasn't.

Today marked ten years since that night.

Ten years since my mother and sister died.

Ten years since Harper Mitchell died with them.

Don’t go, a part of me whispered. But another voice followed right after. It’s been ten years.

Ten years, and I had never visited their graves. Not once.

At first I physically couldn’t. While they buried my family I had been lying unconscious in a hospital bed two states away, doctors rebuilding my face and body piece by piece. By the time I woke up, Brian and Janet had already faked my death. Harper Mitchell was officially gone. They had transported me back to their hometown during the coma, risking everything so the story would hold.

After waking, I spent another six months in the hospital. When I finally got out, visiting Lincoln Cemetery had been too dangerous. Someone could recognize me. Someone could put the pieces together.

So I stayed away. I trained. I healed. I learned how to survive. And I told myself every October that next year would be the year I went.

By 6:00 I was dressed. By 6:30 I'd rented a car using the third of my four fake IDs. By 7:00 I was on the highway heading toward the neighboring town of Lincoln.

The windshield wipers scraped rhythmically across the glass while the headlights cut through the gray. Trees blurred past on either side of the road, black silhouettes against the pale morning mist. The drive was an hour. I didn’t turn on the radio.

Halfway there I pulled into a small florist on the edge of the next town. The bell over the door chimed softly as I stepped inside. The woman behind the counter didn’t ask questions when I picked out three bouquets. White roses for my mother. Yellow tulips for Harmony. A small spray of lavender for my father.

She wrapped each bouquet separately in brown paper, tying them with twine. I paid in cash and my hand was already on the door before something tugged at me. I turned back.

“And one more,” I said, pointing at a single white chrysanthemum in a bucket near the register. I didn’t think about why. I just knew I needed it.

The rest of the drive passed in silence. The rain softened to a mist, then thickened again as I got closer to Lincoln. The sky stayed low and gray, pressing down on the horizon like it wanted to keep everything quiet.

Lincoln Cemetery sat on a low rise at the edge of town. The wrought-iron gate stood open, hanging slightly crooked on its hinges. No cars in the lot. No people. Just rain and fog and quiet.

I parked near the old oak tree and killed the engine. For a moment I just sat there, hands on the wheel, staring through the windshield. My pulse thudded painfully against my throat.

The last time I had been here, there had only been one headstone. My father’s. Now there would be more.

I pulled my hood up and stepped out into the cold morning air. Rain soaked through my sneakers almost immediately. I grabbed the flowers from the back seat and walked the rest of the way.

The cemetery smelled like wet earth and dead leaves. The gravel path crunched under my feet for the first stretch, then gave way to flagstone as I moved deeper into the older section where the oaks grew massive and the stones leaned slightly in the soft ground.