And what did it mean that he’d left his house this morning? He never left his house in the morning.

It means he’s hurrying, I realized.

It meant we were nearly out of time, and meanwhile the FBI had probably been circling Arthur and Nick all day.

My gut clenched. I texted the group again: Remy, you NEED to send your dad to Wayne’s NOW if you haven’t.

As soon as Grace reappeared in uniform at the end of the hall, I hurried to clock out and ran into the humid parking lot, almost smacking into the blue Cadillac idling outside the doors. I waved an apology and headed for my bike.

I thought about going straight to Walmart to check on Arthur and Nick, but according to the report, the power was back on now, and the last thing we needed was for me to make a spectacle with another blackout.

If we were careful, this could work out for us. We could nudge the police toward Wayne Hastings; they could find the stolen material, which would tip off the FBI that he’d been there during the blackout; and when they came to investigate, they’d find the burns.

But if they found those burns, they’d know there were multiple crashes, and I doubted taking one alien host would satisfy them when they had proof two might be walking around Splendor.

I’d figure that out later. The point was, we couldn’t let Remy’s vision come true.

I turned my bike toward home and pedaled up the slope of the parking lot toward the street. Through the fog, the headlights of the idling Cadillac caught the corner of my eye again. It had pulled forward, making its way toward the driveway. I set my feet on the asphalt, waiting to let the car pass me, but it stopped, the driver waving for me to pass.

I kicked off again and crossed the street, fast, before some car could barrel through the fog at full speed, and turned left along the grassy shoulder.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the energy in me jumped, crackling in response.

My gaze swept across the intersection as I turned onto Old Crow Station Lane and dipped into the ditch alongside it, mud spitting up against my ankles as I pedaled. I ducked my head as a car sped past, kicking rainwater into my hair. I tugged my hood up as it slowed onto the tree-lined shoulder ahead of me.

The blue Cadillac’s lights went off.

Blue Cadillac.

It probably wasn’t the same car. And if it was, it wasn’t following me. It was a coincidence.

I rode farther off the road as I approached. The passenger window was rolled down, a bundle of folders and papers resting in the seat, but I couldn’t see the driver.

I held my breath as I rode past, and a moment later, the car pulled onto the road again and sped away.

See? I thought. Nothing.

I flinched, nearly crashing into an old oak, as my phone vibrated in my sweatshirt pocket. I regained my balance and fished it out with my gloved hand just as I was clearing the copse of trees.

My eyes darted between where my house had come into view ahead and my phone screen.

I tapped the call on and lifted the phone to my ear. “Levi?”

“Finally,” he gasped on the other end. “Why isn’t anyone answering their phones?”

“They’re at work,” I said. “Or at least Arthur is, and Nick’s just ignoring us, I’m pretty sure. No idea about Remy or Sof.”

“Where are you?” Levi interrupted.

“Almost home.”

“Don’t,” Levi said.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t go home,” Levi said. “They’re at my house, Franny.”

“The others are? What’s going on—”

“No,” Levi hissed. “The freaking FBI. They’re at my house. They’re taking like—they’re taking everything. They have a search warrant.”

I almost dropped the phone as I looked back toward my driveway. Two black Suburbans were parked in it, right behind Dad’s truck.

“Hello?” Levi said. “Franny?”

My voice came out shaky. “Everything?”

“They’re loading up boxes of my stuff. My cameras, my computer, all of it.”

“Where’s the video?” I asked. “From that night?”

“I’ve got the memory card,” he said, “but there’s a copy saved on my computer. Look, the sheriff’s here too. He told me not to say anything just yet. They’re taking me in for questioning—”

“Questioning?” I bit out. “What could they possibly pretend to question you about? You didn’t do anything!”

“I know,” Levi said. “The sheriff’s pretty mad. I guess they already picked up Remy early this morning when the sheriff wasn’t home, and they still haven’t released him.”

Remy.

They’d had him all morning. That was why he hadn’t replied.

“I’m sure he’s okay,” Levi said, anticipating my fears. “They can only hold him so long, and I doubt he’s said a single word. He knows his rights. Anyway, I’m trying to get ahold of my parents, but they’re, like, in a dead zone, and—” Levi dropped off. I caught the faint murmur of Remy’s dad talking in the background.

“Levi?” I said, then more urgently, “Levi!”

“I have to go,” he said. “I’ll call you as soon as I can. Don’t go home, Franny.”