She tosses the magazine onto the table. It lands face-up on some bold headline that makes my chest lock up.

“How to Hunt a Schoolgirl…”

My heart thuds.

Everything slams back.

Kennedy Monroe. The porch. My keys. Running. The psycho brothers. My car in the distance. Hands. Teeth. Laughters.

Teeth. TEETHS!

I shoot upright so fast I nearly black out. My head throbs. I grab my neck, both hands scrambling. I don’t feel a wound, or blood.

Nothing.

I’m shaking. My breath is loud. The girl in the chair hasn’t moved. She’s just watching me with this smug-ass look like she’s waiting for the panic to land.

“Took you long enough,” she says, voice way too calm. “You’re the first human girl to survive my brothers’ hunt night. That’s… kind of a big deal.”

I blink at her. “What?”

She smiles like she’s proud of me for asking. “You were supposed to die. But you didn’t. Isn’t that exciting?”

Nope.

Nope. I’m not doing this.

I glance at the IV stuck in my arm. I don’t think. I just move.

“Don’t,” she says, suddenly stern. The smile on her face is gone now.

I grab it anyway.

She snarls.

I rip the damn thing out.

Blood spatters.

The pain stings hard but I don’t stop. I swing my legs off the bed. My feet hit cold wood. I stagger but force myself up, heading straight for the door.

But the girl grabs me before I even touch the knob.

She yanks me back like I weigh nothing and slams me against the wall. My head spins. Her grip crushes into my arm, and I try to shove her off, but it’s useless. I kick, elbow, claw, nothing works.

"You're not going anywhere," she growls.

I scream, panic setting in. She doesn’t even flinch.

Then the door bursts open. A blonde woman stands there with a ponytail and plain clothes. She looks like someone’s aunt, not someone meant to walk in on this.

The girl jerks her head toward her.

That’s all I need.

I drop and roll, scrambling through the open door on all fours. My elbow hits the frame hard. Pain shoots up my arm, blood dripping from where I’d ripped out the IV.

I don’t wait. I bolt.

The hallway is huge. Polished wood floors, chandeliers above, I have never been in a place like this in my entire life. I grab the wall to keep steady, leaving a red smear.

Behind me, the girl and the blonde woman start arguing.

“She pulled the IV—”

“I told you not to let her wake up without supervision!”

“Don’t blame me, Bethany! The fuck was I supposed to do? You should have sedated her—”

“She wasn’t supposed to wake up for another two hours!”

“Well, she’s up now, and bleeding all over the fucking floor.”

I keep going, gripping the wall, feet dragging. My shoulder bumps a framed painting and I barely register the sound. My vision keeps dipping and my knees are shaking, but I push.

God, please.

Please.

“Why can’t we just kill her—”

“Harley!”

“What?”

“She’s not the same.”

“She looks the same to me.”

“Harley. Enough.”

“No. You said they needed her. You never said why. And I’m not playing clean-up again without answers.”

“You know it’s not up to me.”

“Then maybe someone should explain why this one gets a bed and a nurse and a fucking IV, while the others got body bags.”

“Lower your voice.”

“You remember the girl from Portland? He thought she was her too. Because he thinks she’s a reincarnation doesn’t mean she isn’t a doppelganger like the others we killed.”

It takes a while before Bethany finally responds, “Then why don’t you bring that up to Hawkley yourself and see how long you last.”

Harley doesn’t respond.