Dr. Lee ignored her gaping stare and stepped up to the fencing. He clasped his hands behind his back and gazed out thoughtfully. “I just thought we should talk, Violet. About your decision to leave the team.”

Violet’s brows furrowed, knitting tightly. “Okay . . .”

“You should reconsider—”

But she didn’t let him finish; she was already shaking her head. “No. Sara said I could take as much time as I wanted.”

Dr. Lee’s smooth expression never cracked, and his stance never relaxed. “They come here every day, you know. Your aunt and your cousin. She lets Cassidy play while they wait for Joshua to get out of school.” He looked down at her now. “Every day.”

Violet’s stomach tightened. She hated the way he made her feel, his rigid posture, his unflinching stare, his strange clothing. There was something menacing . . . threatening about him. About his statements.

“What are you saying?”

The corner of his mouth inched up. “You asked me once who I worked for, and I’ll tell you this: They’re very powerful, the men who employ me . . . who employ us. They don’t want you to quit, Violet. In fact, they insist that you stay. It’s not a request. And if you need me to be more clear, then I will. It’s a threat. Against you, against your friends, and against your family.” He turned and nodded toward the playground. “You’ll continue to be part of the team. You’ll continue your sessions with me . . . call it checking in. And you’ll tell no one—no one—about our conversation today. Have I made myself clear? Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

Violet nodded numbly. Of course she understood. How could she possibly misinterpret any of that? “What about my parents? What am I supposed to say to them?”

Dr. Lee pivoted on the heel of his immaculately shined black shoes. “You’ll figure it out. I have total faith in your ability to handle them.”

And then he walked away, leaving her standing on the sidewalk, listening to the spectral sounds of the music-box echo.