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Dirty. Wet. Scratched. Something.

It looked like my phone. That was all.

I took it reluctantly. The case felt cool.

There was a smear of moisture across one edge from the grass. At least that part was real.

I turned the screen toward myself.

3:41 a.m. A completely ordinary time.

No messages. No missed calls.

No evidence it had gone anywhere. Except that it had.

“Can the alarm record when it was disarmed?” Riot asked Dad.

My pulse jumped.

Dad nodded.

“Yeah.”

He went inside.

We followed. Everybody did this time.

The kitchen filled with Bishops and Pipers in various states of undress and wakefulness.

Marion arrived through the back door in a robe and slippers.

Rook brought up the rear.

I didn’t even realize I was only wearing a tank top and panties until Chief handed me a T-shirt. I looked at it. He must’ve made a beeline to my room and grabbed the biggest one he could find as soon as we came inside.

“Thanks,” I said quietly, and pulled it on. It went to mid-thigh.

It showed how keyed up everyone was that no one else had said a word about me walking around like that.

Dad pulled up the security log on his phone.

Nobody spoke.

He scrolled. Stopped.

“What?” Sunshine asked.

He looked at the screen again. Then at me.

“The system was armed at ten forty-eight.”

“I saw you do it.”

“I know.”

“And?”

Dad looked at the screen again.