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The news plays on in the background, a horrible reminder of why I’m here in the first place.
I didn’t choose to be here. Killian dragged me here.
I shiver.
One photo catches my eye, giving me pause.
It’s a teenage Brock and Dylan, both with big smiles. A girl stands between them, her expression matching theirs.
But I think I know that face.
I take the photo out of the album and study it, then flip it around.
Dylan, Brock, and Hannah.
Hannah.
Where have I heard that name?
Why do I feel like I’m staring at a clue to a mystery?
I turn to face the television, and horror creeps up my spine.
The same grainy footage fromEdenplays over and over, this time with a normal photo of the Omega next to it.
Hannah Matthewsin white text shows under the video.
I can’t breathe, because this can’t be real.
There’s no way it’s the same girl in the photo album.
Please, please, don’t be Hannah Matthews standing with Brock and Dylan.
I walk to the television, holding the photo in my hand next to the photo of Hannah displayed on the screen.
It’s her.
It’s fucking Hannah.
No no no!
I don’t breathe. I squint my eyes shut and force myself to remain quiet.
Their muffled voices are still on the other side of the house, and I bite my hand to keep from making a sound.
It all makes sense now.
Brock’s insistence that they send me toEden. The way he paled when he saw the footage of Hannah being sedated as she screamed.
Dylan’s words about why Killian and Brock argue so much.
“There was a disagreement at one point. And Killian’s made sure he’s never forgotten it.”
Oh, God.
They all know Hannah is there.
They all fucking know, and they haven’t said anything to me.
