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“Of course.”

“Calisto wants to say something. I’m putting him on.”

I hung up.

No doubt Calisto’s intention was to slow me down. That, and layer on a little emotional manipulation. My phone immediately vibrated again as I switched it to silent. I didn’t check who was calling—knowing it would either be Calisto or Ben—before sliding it into my pocket.

“I’m guessing we’re not waiting for the police?” Lake asked.

I shook my head. “He’ll run, and I can’t risk that.”

The wall was easier the second time around, Lake having worked out a better technique that made him more of an active participant and less of a dead weight. Once we were in the car, I hit the accelerator, playing chicken with the speed limit. Thankfully, the roads were quiet at this hour.

“We should have some sort of weapon,” Lake said as we pulled up in front of the multistory car park.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. A baseball bat or something.”

“Do you own one?”

“No.”

“Not many baseball bat shops open at this time of night.”

“A knife, then.”

“It’s an offense to carry a knife.”

“A branch. A plank of wood. A chain. Something…”

“I appreciate your creativity. It’s very… video-game coded.” I drew a breath in and let it out slowly. “Last chance to get out of the car.”

“You’re driving in there?”

“Yeah. Seems more sensible than walking.”

“He’ll see you coming. He’ll have the upper hand.”

I laughed. “He’s always had the upper hand. Nineteen years ago, he knew everything about me, and I knew nothing about him. This isn’t about having an advantage.”

“What is it about?”

“Truth. Motivation. The past. The future. Secrets. Lies.” I scanned the street. No sign of a police presence yet, marked car or otherwise. Ben wouldn’t come alone; he’d come in an official capacity, which took time. I tried again. “Get out of the car, Lake. You can wait here for Ben.”

“No.” He wrapped his fingers around the door panel, as if he thought I might try to drag him out. “You should have left while I was in the bathroom, if that’s what you wanted.”

“I thought about it,” I admitted.

“So why didn’t you?”

“Selfishness, maybe. It feels nice not to be alone.”

“You didn’t stop me from going into the graveyard.”

“I think I knew, deep down, he wouldn’t be there. It was always going to be here. It’s the only place we’ve ever met before—no matter how brief that meeting was, or how brutal his introduction.”

“He didn’t want to talk then. What makes you think he’ll talk now?”