“Oh, for god’s sakes,” Gemma huffed. “It’s so hard to make you miserable if you don’t give a shit. Fine, I give up.” Her voice shifted, becoming . . . almost nice. “I’m sorry you had such a craptastic weekend. And . . . sorry about that guy, even thought you sorta hated him.” She nodded toward the empty chair. “If it makes you feel any better, I think everyone else hates him now too.”

Violet’s jaw tensed. “It doesn’t. And I don’t hate him. I just . . . we just . . .” She didn’t owe Gemma any explanations. “We weren’t friends anymore, but that doesn’t mean he deserves this.”

“So it’s true then? What Sara said about him not being guilty?”

Sometimes Violet forgot that Gemma lived with Sara and Rafe, that they were the only family she had, and that she knew what they knew.

She nodded. They might not be friends—she and Gemma—but it was nice to have another person she could confide in. Or rather, not have to lie to all the time. Not to have to hide her ability from.

She wished it could be this easy with her real friends.

“Hmm,” Gemma exhaled. “I sorta pegged him as an ass.” When Violet turned in her chair to gape at her, she lifted her shoulder. “What? I did.”

“Well, just because someone’s an ass doesn’t make them a murderer.”

Gemma’s lips twisted into a meaningful smile. “You got that right, sister,” she said. “If that were the case, Rafe would definitely be a serial killer.”

Violet couldn’t help the smile that slid over her lips. Gemma was right. She thought of the way Rafe generally kept others at a distance, ensuring that no one got too close or became too attached, by offending everyone. In that sense, it almost seemed logical that he’d be drawn to Chelsea. She was sort of offensive herself.

But Violet knew there was another side of him too, he’d shown it to her. He’d told her how he felt.

Unfortunately, Violet couldn’t share Rafe’s feelings.

Couldn’t, she thought, turning the word over in her mind. It was a strange way to phrase it. Hadn’t she meant didn’t? That she didn’t share Rafe’s feelings?

It didn’t matter though, she had someone. She had Jay.

She and Rafe could only ever be friends.

“People are talking, you know?” Gemma said, interrupting Violet’s thoughts and dragging her back into the classroom.

“About Grady? I know.”

“No. About you.” She shrugged. “I mean, not about you, really. But about the person who found the bodies. They know it was someone who goes to school here. There’s a lot of guessing going on about who it could be.”

Goose bumps broke out over Violet’s skin. “Have they . . . ? Did they . . . ? Has anyone said my name?”

Gemma made a face, dismissing the notion as absurd. “Of course not. They point at each other mostly, trying to get someone to admit it was them. Really, they have no idea who it was.”

Violet looked around her, at the other students in her class, most of whom she’d known her whole life. Somehow, Gemma’s assurance, even with her empathic abilities, didn’t make Violet feel any more secure.

By the end of the day, Violet was exhausted. What she wanted was to go home and flop on her bed. To read through more of her grandmother’s journals. To sleep.

But it was Monday and she had an appointment, one she wasn’t allowed to miss. After Jay had dropped her off at her house so she could get her car, she made the long drive into the city, trying to give herself every reason to cancel her weekly meeting with Dr. Lee, but knowing, no matter how good the excuses she came up with, it was against the rules he’d laid out for her. And the last thing she wanted to do was to put her family in harm’s way.

Instead she concentrated on the fact that he might actually be able to help her this time. As much as she hated to admit it, he had a way of making her feel better when an echo—or in this case, echoes—weighed on her.

She was doing okay. Better than okay, really. By comparison to how it used to be after she’d found a body, the dull headache and the sluggishness she felt now were a cakewalk. She could manage through this like a champ.

Still, that didn’t mean it couldn’t be better, which was where Dr. Lee came in. He had ways . . .

Ways of stilling her mind. Ways of easing the tension. Ways of chasing away her demons.

And for that, she almost hated him more. For making her lean on him, even when he was twisting her arm and forcing her to do things.

She barely said two words during the entire first half of the session. It wasn’t until Dr. Lee asked her about the events of the weekend that she—reluctantly—allowed him to walk her through a breathing exercise.

Of course, it worked. And of course, inwardly she cursed herself for letting him be so useful. But she did feel better, despite herself.

As she slipped out into the waiting room, a familiar voice startled her. “Violet! Hey! How are you?”

She glanced back, checking to see if Dr. Lee was watching, but the door to his office was closed, giving them a few minutes of privacy. Sam didn’t seem to notice her guardedness as he stepped forward and wrapped her in a hug that was too tight.

Violet laughed, momentarily forgetting her silent vow to be sullen and brooding whenever she was in Dr. Lee’s presence. “Sam . . .” She could feel his ribs poking out beneath her hands as she shoved out of his grip. “What are you doing here?”