Obviously there have been others who’ve come back. Jay talked about the Walkers. Maggie clearly has stories of her own. And Lucy remembers something Ms. Baldwin said, that people don’t look. That most people don’t need to see. Could it be that simple? Lucy’s spent countless hours watching the students around her—looking for a memory or something familiar—but maybe she’s looking for the wrong thing. Maybe it’s not a thing she should be watching for, but a who.

Without a destination in mind, she continues on, turning this way and that, moving from sidewalk to snow-covered lawn to gravel path and then sidewalk again. Following nothing but the instinctual map that seems to be unfolding in her mind.

She finds herself beside the statue, running her fingertips down the smooth, extended arm of Saint Osanna. The marble hums beneath her fingers, and Lucy curls her grip more firmly around it, feeling it warm. Somehow she knows there’s life there—of one form or another, even if it’s life in the way she is. If Lucy can return and form a makeshift body out of the elements, why can’t the statue possess a spirit just the same?

Feet crunch through the snow, and she turns, catching Jay as he almost passes her by without noticing.

“Jay.”

He stops, looks over at her vacantly before blinking into awareness. “Hey, rocker chick.”

He walks to her, eyeing the statue skeptically before sitting beside her. Empty seconds tick by before either of them speaks. Finally, Jay asks, “How was he when you left?”

“He seemed fine,” Lucy says, and then reaches up, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I can’t stop thinking about how he could have died.”

Jay is already shaking his head. “You don’t know Colin like I do. Colin is the guy who never questions whether he can or should do something. He just does it. The stuff you saw him doing at the lake was nothing. Last summer, we went skydiving with my dad, and Colin pulled his chute at the last minute and landed easier than any of us. As crazy as it sounds, Colin doesn’t know what dying even means.”

Lucy curls her hands into fists, wanting to ask Jay about every single time Colin has dared to put his life in danger. But she suspects they would be here talking for hours.

“He’s a good guy,” Jay says, turning his face up into the biting wind.

Lucy swears she can feel blood pounding through her veins just thinking about him. “He seems like the best guy.”

Smiling, Jay looks over at her. “Yeah, I guess that’s what I meant.” He pulls his jacket collar up, wincing at the cold. “What are you doing out here?”

She shrugs, shying away from answering and lying to Jay. “Waiting for someone.”

He stands, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and tilting his head toward the dorm. “Clearly you’re a badass, but I’m freezing. I’m going to head back to the room.” He frowns a little, thoughtfully. “Do you live on campus?”

Lucy nods, noncommittal. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything about Colin.”

“Same.”

She watches him walk away, shoulders up and head down, his short strides like tiny stabs aimed at the icy walkways. Lucy feels like there should be more there with Jay, some acknowledgment of the miracle of what happened or reliving of the trauma, but he’s so matter of fact about it all.

She can tell it’s cold out from the way students hunch over into their middles, grip their bags, lean into each other. At the entrance to every building, they rush in toward the warmth of the halls, but Lucy stands out in the wind, fascinated with how it no longer seems to fight her. Instead, she closes her eyes and presses back, determined to stay earthbound. Determined not to disappear or take Colin anywhere. Determined to find another like her.

Darkness is threatening and it’s started to snow when Lucy looks past the trees and sees two figures pressed into the growing shadows of Ethan Hall. The boys huddle over something held between them. One laughs, and the other reaches up to touch his shoulder.

Lucy freezes.

The way the boy touches his friend is familiar. It’s exactly the way Colin touches her, gently, preceded by a slow approach, as if he’s afraid to startle her with the contact. Narrowing her eyes, she takes in their features. The careful one is tall and broad, athletic in build. His hair blows across a tanned forehead, skin that sees sun every month of the year. Even from this distance, she can see that the other boy, the one he touched, is smooth, unblemished, skin that resembles porcelain in its clarity. Like Lucy, he lacks the small scars and imperfections that are the hallmarks of the living.

He’s like her.

Her mind turns wild at the realization, reaching for the opportunity to understand. She pushes herself forward, walking to them in only a few strides, calling out, “Excuse me!”

When they look up, terrified, and step apart immediately, Lucy realizes her mistake. They are lovers, hiding in the shadows for the privacy of an intimate conversation. Their silence is heavy with the panic of being discovered, and the living boy presses his hands to his face.

But the ghost stares at Lucy, eyes slowly widening. Stepping away from the wall, he moves toward her, wearing a smile.

She stares, unable to look away. He looks completely inhuman, unreal. But she knows she’s never noticed him before. “I didn’t—” she stammers, holding up a shaky hand.

“I’m Henry Moss.” He reaches forward and takes her hand, and it stills in his grip. “You okay there?”

His fingers are warm and feel like smooth glass. Releasing them, Lucy stumbles back a few steps before turning and falling back at the feet of her favorite statue. Her mind reels, wondering how she didn’t think to look before—that there could be another like her, here now.

After a pause, the boys follow to sit on either side of her, and Lucy can feel them exchanging a look over the top of her head, though she can’t begin to imagine what they’re thinking, given the whirlwind of her own thoughts. For a second, she wonders if they can see the surface of her skin rippling with the impact of this discovery.

“This has been the most insane twenty-four hours of my . . . life,” she says, laughing.

“Let’s start with your name,” Henry says, bumping his shoulder gently against hers.

“Lucy.” She looks over at him, searching his face for any sign of life, and can’t see it. There’s no pulse in his throat, no freckles, no scars. Nothing but perfection. He simply looks like he’s been drawn here. “You are like me, aren’t you?”

Henry smiles so widely that his bright blue eyes crinkle at the corners. “I think so.”

“Are there others like us here at Saint Osanna’s?” She hesitates. “Walkers?”

Shaking his head, he murmurs, “I haven’t seen any lately. Never really used that word to describe myself before.”

“Lately? How long have you been here?” She wants to apologize for her rapid-fire questions, but Henry seems entirely unsurprised by her hunger to know these things. She wonders if it’s possible that she’s seen Henry a hundred times in the past few months without having noticed.

“I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like I’ve been here forever. I only really remember being here for the past year and a half.”

“But you’ve heard of the Walkers?”

“I’ve heard stories, sure,” he says, shrugging. “It’s why students are told not to go down to the lake, why this place has such a creepy reputation and Halloween is this huge deal.” He presses a hand to his chest, giving her an indulgent smile. “I just assumed we were misunderstood.”

Lucy allows a small smile to escape before she remembers her biggest fear, and the question comes bubbling up abruptly: “Have you ever vanished?”

He winces sympathetically. “Happened to me a couple of times when I first got here. That was the scariest. But it hasn’t happened again for a while now.” He looks to the boy beside him, confirming, “Maybe a year, Alex?”

“At least a year,” Alex agrees.

“Really?” she asks, curiosity and vibrant hope making her voice come out thick.

Shrugging, Henry says, “I assumed it was kind of an adjustment thing.”