“Sheldon?” Corrigan was coming, followed by Bryce, and Denton. The first two slammed to a halt right behind me, riveted by Mena as well.

I waited, holding my breath. Then I heard Corrigan exclaim, “What the hell, Denton?”

“Fuck,” Bryce grunted, raking his hand through his hair. “FUCK!”

Mena frowned at her brother. “You didn’t tell them?”

“Uh . . .” Denton went to her side, facing us, and held his hands out. “Sorry, guys. It . . . this,” he gestured to his sister, “completely slipped my mind with everything going on.”

Mena turned, facing him squarely. She moved her head to the side and her hand came back out from her sweatshirt to land on her hip. “You remembered to tell me.”

He shot her a pointed look. “I know. Thank you.” He looked right at me. “I’m sorry. I really am. She’s going to college here.”

“My college?” Corrigan cursed, starting to pace back and forth behind me. “This fucking sucks!”

Denton ignored him, talking over him, “She’s only here for a while, until she gets on her feet with school. The plan is for her to wait a few months and then find a friend, someone we both trust for her to room with.”

“So, she’s here? For the duration?” Bryce’s tone was sharp. He was sending her a dark look. “How long have you known we’d be here?”

She opened her mouth, but Denton moved in front of her, blocking her from Bryce’s interrogation. He folded his arms over his chest and clipped out, back to him, “You need to back down. Mena’s my sister, and she has more right to be in this house than you do—”

“Exactly my point,” Bryce ground out. He didn’t back down. “Did you know about this before we came here?”

“Yes, but—”

“We shouldn’t have come here.” Bryce reached for my arm and started to push me back to the hallway. “We’re leaving. We’re not safe with her here.”

“Hey! Whoa. Whoa,” Denton called us back. “She’s my sister. I can’t turn her out.”

“No.” Bryce shook his head. “You should’ve turned us out. That’s the whole point. You know how we feel about your sister—”

Mena stepped toward us. “I’m right here.”

Bryce kept going, “—even if you trust her, I don’t. Corrigan doesn’t. I highly doubt Sheldon does.”

As he said those last three words, I felt Mena’s gaze come toward me, resting on me. A weird sensation of guilt filled me, and I stepped to the side, away from Bryce and Denton. I didn’t know what this feeling was about. Mena had burned her bridges. I had taken her under my wing, befriended her, but she hadn’t stood up to Bryce and Corrigan. She didn’t earn their trust, even when I told them to give her a shot, but I couldn’t do it for her. They did. They shut up, gave her an opening to stand up to them, but she hadn’t.

They broke her instead, and she started to sleep with one of our enemies. She became one of our enemies after that and had a full meltdown at one of our parties where she was found by Denton and then shipped off to a psychiatric place. She’d been there for a long time, and the last I heard was that she had gone to a residential program somewhere else.

It was Grace.

That was the guilt I was feeling.

Grace had been our common link at the end. She went to visit Mena, and according to Grace, Mena always asked how I was doing. “. . . you feel guilty because you couldn't help Mena. I was a better friend to Mena so you befriending me is almost like you're supporting Mena in a way.” Grace’s voice came back to me, and I reached out for the wall. Her words washed over me, mingling with so many other emotions—grief, pain, being haunted, all of those and more. I shook my head, needing to clear my thoughts. I couldn’t . . . Grace’s voice drifted back, I couldn’t shake her words, “Mena didn't want you to know how far she'd fallen.”

How far she had fallen. I lifted pained eyes. Mena was watching me intently. Searching her gaze, I didn’t see the embarrassment that Grace had mentioned when I asked about their visits.

She looked strong. She looked content. She looked at peace.

Not like Grace, my own thought laughed at me, taunting me. Grace was dead. Grace wasn’t strong. Grace wasn’t content.

Grace was dead.

I felt her, right then and there, like she was in the room with me. I felt rage from her. She was definitely not at peace.

“When are you going to avenge me? When are you going to deal with my murderer?” I winced, feeling her laughing at me.

“Grace,” I whispered under my breath, folding over. My head bent forward and I slumped down against the wall closest to me. I hadn’t done a thing, not yet, but I was trying.

“You’re just focused on yourself. Yourself, Sheldon. It’s always about you. What about me? I’m dead. DEAD! You’re alive. Stop crying over that fact.”

I shook my head. This wasn’t real. Grace really wasn’t there. She wasn’t haunting me.

“STOP!”

Everything was too much. I couldn’t lift my head. I couldn’t focus on what they were saying, whoever they were. Mena’s shrill voice broke through, but I kept my eyes closed. A part of me, the irrational side of me, was scared that if I looked up, Grace would be sitting next to me. Angry. Hateful. Disappointed.

It wasn’t about me. It was about Grace. This was all about her now. She was right, whether she’d been real or not. I had to suck it up and find her murderer, not for me. For her.

“Grace,” I whispered again. I am so sorry. I am so sorry.

“Sheldon?” Corrigan was kneeling in front of me. His hand cupped the bottom of my face and he lifted my head.

I kept my eyes closed. I couldn’t look. She’d be there.

“Sheldon?” Bryce’s voice was close; he was next to Corrigan. “What’s wrong?”

“No.” I tried to pull from Corrigan’s hand, but he kept it firm. He didn’t let me go. Instead, he murmured, “Hey. Hey.”

“No.” I tried again.

“Hey, come on. It’s me.” He moved closer, and I felt his arms sliding underneath me. Then he picked me up and stood, cradling me against his chest.

I tucked my head into his shoulder and burrowed there. My hands clutched onto his shoulders. I didn’t want him to let me go.