Is he gonna hold it?

“Winter!”

A shout pierces the air, and I jump.

Searching the ground, I see my father and mother storm up toward the treehouse, their gazes fixed on us.

“Why would you run off without telling your mom where you were going?” he barks.

“Dad,” I breathe out, suddenly scared I did something wrong.

Why is he here? He wasn’t here earlier. He looks upset.

“Come down, honey,” my mom calls, smoothing her clothes. “It’s time to leave.”

“You shut up,” Dad says. “She and Arion are not to come here again. You’ll be lucky if I don’t sue you for custody.”

Custody? Why is he mad at her?

“What’s going on?” I look up at Damon.

Did we do something wrong?

He shakes his head, scooting back and pulling me with him. “I don’t know.”

We move out of sight and stand up, feeling the floor vibrate under us like someone is coming up the ladder.

He’s rigid next to me, but he looks just as confused. I should’ve told my mom where I was going, but she was with Mr. Torrance, and it just happened.

Is that why he’s mad?

My father comes up through the door in the floor, his lips tight, and his suit wrinkled.

He stands up, scowling at us both.

“Get away from her,” he orders Damon.

Damon and I exchange looks, both of us scared.

My father charges over, and Damon steps in front of me.

“Did he hurt you?” my dad asks.

But Damon just shakes his head. “I didn’t.”

It sounds like a plea. Why is my father so worried?

“Move.” He pushes Damon out of the way.

My dad grabs my hand and pulls me. I stumble, letting out a cry.

“You don’t speak to him, and you are never allowed back at this house,” he growls. “If Mom brings you, you tell me. Do you understand?”

“But I want her to come back,” Damon says. “Please.”

“What did we do?” I ask my dad.

He just ignores me, flexing his jaw and squeezing my hand as he yanks me toward the door.

I look back at Damon but stumble when Dad nudges me toward the hole in the floor. I spin back around, looking down to the ground far below and shake my head. My knees shake, and I feel like I’m going to pee my pants.

“I’m scared,” I start to cry.

I can’t see the steps going down like I could coming up.

“Now!” he snaps.

I jump.

Shaking and tears streaming, I crouch down by the hole, knowing I’m going to slip. My foot will slip. I know it. I won’t be able to see the steps underneath me.

But Damon rushes over and takes my hand, pulling me away from the hole and putting himself in front of me again.

“Leave her alone!” he fights. “I’ll help her! I’ll do it!”

My father charges for him, Damon steps back, digging into my foot, and I cry out.

“Just get out of here!” Damon yells. “I’ll bring her down!”

He backs up more, scared, and I’m stumbling, step after step, and we’re falling back, and I can’t catch myself.

“You little shit…” my dad growls.

“Just leave her alone!” Damon cries out.

I look back, see us heading straight for the railing, and he’s not paying attention.

“Damon!” I beg.

He falls into me, our weight snapping the small wooden beam, and I fall backward, crying out and grappling for anything.

“Ah, oh, my God!” I hear my mother scream from below.

I catch the edge of the floor, losing my grip and spilling over, but a hand catches me, and I suck in air, bile rising up my throat as my legs dangle.

I look up, tears filling my eyes as Damon lies on his stomach, struggling to keep hold of me, but I feel so heavy, like I’m being pulled down. My father comes down and grabs for me, but Damon and I can’t hold, and I flail, slipping out of his fingers. His eyes meet mine, time freezes for a split second as we stare at each other, knowing I’m gone.

I slip, scream, and fall, his face the last thing I see before I see nothing at all.

I blinked my eyes awake, sweat coating my brow as warmth spilled through my bedroom window. The memory—the panic—still raced through my body as if I went over that treehouse edge yesterday.

That was the first time I recalled so many details my eight-year-old mind had buried away. He was so different. Rika was right.

I sat up in bed, wiping my eyes but still tired.

Tired of worry and hate and anger.

But also tired of feeling like I always lost.

That was my dilemma with Damon. That accident wasn’t his fault. I knew now that my father wasn’t upset with me or Damon that day. He’d discovered my mother and Mr. Torrance together and lost his temper.

Everything got out of hand, and Damon got scared. We were just kids. He didn’t mean to push me over. I knew that now.

But still…

I just never seemed to come out of anything with him unscathed, did I? In body or in mind.

Rising from the bed, I left my room, the house still silent as I walked down the stairs and into the ballroom. I fell asleep so early I missed dinner last night, and I needed some coffee, but I needed to stretch. I started my playlist and walked over to the wall, moving the curtain aside and lifting the first window to breathe in some fresh air.

But as I did, I stopped, hearing the rush of water outside.

A lot of water, and not like rain.

I thought he got rid of the fountain.

I couldn’t hear the workers anymore—no trucks or machinery. Did they bust a pipe or something? What was that sound?

Leaving the ballroom, I walked toward the front door, punching in the code Crane had given me and disarming the house.

I opened the door, the sound of water filling the air as I stepped outside.

Inching across the driveway in my bare feet, I held out my hands and went slow, careful for any equipment or cars.

But as I walked, I felt the draft and spray of what felt like waterfalls, and then suddenly, the pavement changed to something else under my toes, and I stopped. Dipping my foot out a little more, I felt water spill onto my feet and a granite floor underneath—no bowl or pool where the fountain was collecting. Simply a massive slab of ground. Maybe with drains?

I stepped in, my heart pounding as I held out my fingers, grazing the towers of water around me.

My mouth went dry, trying to puzzle this together. What was this?

I stepped on a spout, the water spraying everywhere and splashing me, and I sucked in a breath, getting a little wet.

But I kept going, tracing the spouts with my toes as I walked and finding a path. I kept my arms out at my sides, my fingers tracing the water and where it created walls and turns, coming to dead ends and veering around corners. The water shot up well above my head, and as I rounded the paths, finding little alcoves and hiding places, my sleep shorts and top stuck to my body and my hair grew cold and wet down my back.

I closed my eyes, my throat swelling as I mapped the water, gauging the huge circle and all the spouts inside creating this intricate wonderland of nooks and avenues, and I…

Oh, my God.

Tears pooled, realizing. He hadn’t taken away the fountain. He’d replaced it.

My eyes stung.

It was a fountain maze.

I stood there in the center, towers of water shooting up and spilling around me as the tears started to fall. Hiding me in a world within a world.

Just like his fountain growing up.

Just like the treehouse.

Damon, what did you do?

My head fell back, and everything crumbled. My heart, my head, my hate, and my grudge, and I just wanted to see him. To feel him and put his forehead to mine and feel him breathe. To have him pick me up and hold me in here, where the water and the walls were high enough to hide us.

I loved him. I still loved him.

Goddamn him.

I cried, the music inside the ballroom drifting out through the window, and I ran my hand through my hair, everything inside just wanting out. I was tired of stopping myself. Of spending more time resenting than getting on with it.

I wanted to fight and scream and laugh and smile and kiss and taste and wrap my arms around him more than I could stomach never feeling him again.

I closed my eyes, starting to spin as Lana Del Rey’s “Dark Paradise” drifted out of the ballroom through the open window, and I swept my leg, arched my back, and shot up on the ball of my foot, dancing and twirling as the music filled me up and took me over. My arms sliced through the water, splashing and whipping the spray, and I danced and danced and danced, running my hand over my stomach, my drenched hair flying around me and sticking to my face and body.

To dive and fall.

To have a lifetime of searching for something.

Or to have five minutes of everything.

I slowed as the music ended and stopped, the chill of the water seeping into my bones, but I felt awake for the first time in years. I was alive.

I wanted it. I wanted it all.

I pushed my hair out of my face and over the top of my head, breathing in so deep, because my lungs felt so much bigger all of a sudden.

“Winter?” someone called.

Crane.

I walked across the fountain maze, smiling through the towers of water and smoothing back my hair as I made my way to the edge, following his voice.

“Where is he?” I asked.

Crane was silent a moment, and then said, “Occupied at the moment. Would you like me to give him a message?”

Occupied.

Okay. If he wanted to play, let him come find me then.

I was ready.

“Let him know that I’ll be going to the Throwback at The Cove tonight with some friends,” I told Crane. “So he doesn’t send out the hounds.”

“And you’ll be home by eleven?” he demanded more than asked.

But I just cocked my head, unable to hide the small smile he had to know was pure mischief. “Of course.”

Throwback Night was organized by some of Thunder Prep’s alumni as one last hoorah at The Cove before it was sold off, rumors flying for a while now that several investors were interested in redeveloping the property. Back in the day, this was a theme park—rides, roller coasters, fun houses, and games—and mostly everything still stood here, abandoned for years, having been dark since we were kids. I remember coming here once when it was still active.