Alas, the closet hid no secrets, so when I emerged, still trapped in the House of Crazy, I took a millionth look at Gran’s bedroom window. From the start, it had seemed like the obvious one to leave open, so Gran could escape if a fire started in the middle of the night. But a glance the day I’d arrived had shown me that it, too, was screwed shut.

However this time when I looked, I noticed something I hadn’t before. On the sill itself, along with bits of sawdust from where the screws were forced into the wood, I saw tiny curls of rubbery shavings. I pinched one between my fingers and realized it was dried paint.

Kris had said some of the windows were painted shut, but someone had scraped paint from the opening in Gran’s window. Why bother, if it was screwed closed?

Hopeful, I gave the window a tug, and it slid up with little effort and no noise, despite the countersunk screws. And that’s when I noticed these screws were different. They were shorter than the others, so they hadn’t penetrated the wood. They were just for show.

But why? Who was the show for, if Kris hadn’t gone to the Tower estate intending to kidnap and imprison someone?

Half an hour after she left, Kori returned with Olivia—the bloodhound—and a tall, well-built, dark-haired man who could only be Cam, her significant other.

His significance was obvious in the way they stood close together, and sat close together, and kept touching each other for no reason at all, as if any distance put between them caused actual pain.

To my surprise, they’d been in the House of Crazy less than five minutes when they took seats on the couch, facing the arm chair I’d claimed for myself when all the friendship and togetherness started to close in on me.

“Sera, this is Cameron Caballero,” Liv said, one hand on his thick left biceps. “Cam, this is Sera.”

We shook hands, and when Cam started talking, I realized they’d come to talk to me.

“So, I understand that you have some information for us to start with,” he said, and when I looked up, I found Kris watching us from the kitchen doorway. He’d obviously passed along part of what I’d told him, but I couldn’t tell how much.

“I can give you a description.” I forced the syllables from my throat with enough volume to suggest confidence. A lie floating on honest words.

They didn’t need to know the parts I’d left out.

Cam smiled. “There isn’t much Liv and I can do with a description, but if that’ll help Van find his name...well, then we’ll be in business.”

Oh, yeah. Cam was the name Tracker.

“We want anything you can tell us about him,” Olivia said, and I hated how soft her voice was, as if any real volume might startle me. As if she was a counselor in a fancy office.

They definitely knew I’d been there. That I’d seen what happened to my family.

I spared a moment for thanks that Kris had had no other information to give them.

“Dark hair,” I said, and Liv started scribbling in her notebook with the stubby remains of a pencil. “Kind of long, and very curly. Light eyes. Pale skin. Freckles.” I swallowed and closed my eyes, then opened them almost immediately. With my eyes closed, I could still see him. When the room got too quiet, I could still hear him. The sounds he’d made between my sister’s screams...

“Anything else?” Cam asked when I’d been silent for at least a minute.

“He’s lean, but strong. Tall. Six feet, or more. He doesn’t look like...” A killer. I didn’t know how to finish that without saying the words. “He looks like a college kid. Clean clothes. Hiking boots. And he smiles a lot. Like he’s having fun.”

Olivia blinked, and something unpleasant flashed behind her eyes.

I knew what they were thinking. My description was too detailed. I’d gotten a good, long look at the monster who’d slaughtered my entire family. I hadn’t just glanced at him as I’d fled the house.

They wanted to know how I’d survived, when everyone I’d ever loved had died.

“Okay. That’s good,” Liv said, but there was nothing good about what I was telling them. “Did you notice anything else? Tattoos or birthmarks? Scars?”

I shook my head, trying to mentally detach myself. To rise above what I’d seen and heard. “His height and hair are his most distinguishing features.” My voice sounded cold. Clinical. As if I’d actually been able to divorce myself from the memories long enough to describe him. But that was another lie.

“Did you hear him speak? Did he have an accent?” Cam asked, and I realized that all discussion from the kitchen had ended. Kris stood in the doorway, quiet rage blooming in red splotches on his cheeks and forehead. Vanessa sat in a recliner, clicking away at her laptop, while Kori perched on the arm of her chair, alternately looking at me and at Van’s screen.

“No accent. He sounded normal. Educated, but not pretentious. His voice is deeper than you’d expect from such a thin build, but it’s soft. Quiet and controlled.” Even in the middle of...bad things.

I’d never spoken about him in such detail, but I’d relived that night so many times that I couldn’t forget any of it. Ever. No matter how hard I tried.

“Okay. I’ve got all that down.” Olivia met my gaze with a steady one of her own. “But, Sera, it would really help us out if you could tell us where this happened. My range is pretty good, but I still have limits, and we’ll need a starting point.”