The car rolled along steadily, bumping now and then, but that rhythmic jostling only made him drowsier. Dan struggled to keep his eyes open. He felt drugged, like he had been awake for days on end, sheer willpower alone keeping him upright. It was a sudden feeling and all encompassing; even his toes felt tired.

It didn’t seem natural, which made him think it would pass. He was starting to feel anxious about it, and he put his hand in his pocket to grab his meds before realizing he’d left them at Uncle Steve’s. He leaned to look past the center console at the windshield. They started to speed up, accelerating so abruptly he felt his stomach give a nauseating jerk. He tried to focus his eyes, watching the road twist and then straighten—and then drop out altogether. There was nothing in front of them, just empty space and what looked like a distant line of trees.

Dan called out. He didn’t know what he ended up saying, but he wanted it to be, “We’re going over the edge!”

Driver and passenger spun around to look at him. It wasn’t Oliver and Sabrina. Shouldn’t it have been Oliver and Sabrina? Dan flattened himself back against the seat, shaking.

They had no faces. God, there was nothing there at all. They were just blanks with bodies and hair, heads like clean, white ovals, like eggs turned on their points. The faceless faces hovered in front of the bleak oncoming landscape as the car veered off the cliff edge, and then they were suspended. They watched Dan silently. How could they watch him without eyes? But he felt it, the full weight of their attention pinned on him.

For a second he was weightless inside the fear, rising up as the car plummeted down toward a blur of blue and white foam. A river. They would hit it any second now. He closed his eyes and braced, waiting for the final, hard crunch of impact.

Instead he flew awake in his bed, gasping so loudly and desperately his throat felt instantly raw.

For a full minute he couldn’t remember what had come before—there’d been the car ride, and finding the postcard with the poem, and then . . . ? When he thought about it, hard, the memories started to come back, as if they were from a year ago and not from last night. Oliver had had no idea what the poem was supposed to be—it didn’t look like the assignments he used to get—but Jordan had remembered the poem, too, from the library in Shreveport. They had all agreed to regroup at Oliver’s shop tonight after it closed.

Dan grabbed the top sheet and wiped his sweaty face across it. He didn’t want to close his eyes again, terrified of the white faces.

The room was already bright with morning sun, and though he didn’t feel rested, a quick glance at his phone confirmed he had slept through the night. Any minute now, Abby would be knocking on the door to make sure they were awake.

Dan got up and put on a faded T-shirt. When the knock came, Dan was surprised to find that not only had Abby showered and gotten dressed, she’d come armed with three coffees and a bag of beignets.

“You went out?” Dan croaked, opening the door fully for her. She breezed in, setting the drinks down on the table with Jordan’s computer.

Jordan groaned and huddled under the sheets, pretend sobbing when she yanked the blinds open.

“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep in.”

“I can always sleep in,” Jordan whimpered, still hiding.

“And anyway Steve was up, too, so we did our morning yoga together and then went out to get breakfast for everyone.”

“Of course you did.” Dan smiled wanly at her, wishing he had a fraction of her taste for mornings.

“So I’ve been thinking,” she said, turning and flouncing down onto the chair in front of Jordan’s laptop, “what if this poem is like some kind of anthem for the people Micah worked for? Think about it, they definitely deal in bones, right? The ‘bone artists’? It makes sense.”

“Would you slow down? My brain’s still booting up,” Jordan murmured, finally crawling out of his cocoon of blankets. It was the first time Dan had seen his hair look truly unkempt instead of stylishly messy.

Abby zoomed onward, gesturing with half a beignet in her hand.

“I think we should ask that councilman about it today,” she added.

“No.” The response was automatic. Jordan and Abby both paused and stared at him. Dan shrugged. “I just think he’s too friendly, you know? Nobody should be that friendly.”

“That’s the most depressing thing you’ve ever said,” Jordan said, rolling onto his back. He punched a few pillows into shape and wedged them under his head. “Although Uncle Steve does say you should never trust anybody in a suit that costs more than a car.”

“Uncle Steve is an aging hippie,” Abby countered.

It was a little vicious. Jordan sputtered.

“What? It doesn’t make him any less lovable, but it’s true.”

“I just think it’s better if we keep all of this between us,” Dan said, redirecting. “This bone stuff is creepy.”

“Us and Oliver and Sabrina, you mean.”

“Abby . . . Okay, yes, between the five of us, then.”

Jordan held out an empty hand, opening and closing his fist until a beignet landed in it, thanks to Abby. “Let’s rewind for a minute here. What do we actually know from the poem? What did it show up on before?”

“On the newsprint you and Dan borrowed from the archives in Shreveport,” Abby said impatiently. “Not that I’m complaining, I guess. I know you grabbed that article for me.”

“An article about that gangster you’re researching,” Dan added, regarding her evenly over his coffee. “Which is, I’m guessing, the reason you’re so interested in the whole situation today.”

She took the accusation in stride, wiping the powdered sugar from her hands. “Fair enough, yes, there appears to be some overlap between Oliver’s former employers and Jimmy Orsini. Can you blame me for wanting to know more? This is a project I’ve been thinking about all summer, so pardon me if I’d like to follow up on this connection.”

“I’m glad, Abby. It’s nice not to feel like the Lone Ranger in this,” Dan replied. “And I think you’re right. We shouldn’t overlook anything as coincidence at this point.”

“Then we agree,” Abby said, lifting her chin into the air. “We’ll ask the councilman about it today.”

“I didn’t say that—”

“God, it’s too early to argue,” Jordan interrupted, shutting both of them up. “We’ll flip a coin before we head to the store. There? See? Now someone hand me a coffee before I get grumpy for real.”