Usually Abby beat him to the dining hall, but despite the late night and broken sleep, Dan saw no sign of her or Jordan as he got in line for breakfast.

He heaped hash browns, eggs, and a few strips of bacon onto his plate and grabbed a bowl of cereal from the end of the buffet before heading to their usual spot, a circular table by the far windows. While he finished eating his eggs and bacon, he watched the other students filing in, but Abby and Jordan still didn’t come. He started in on his cereal, taking his time with it.

As the minutes ticked by with no sign of his friends, he became increasingly aware of the fact that he was the only student eating alone. He was used to this at his high school but here he felt conspicuous, naked without his friends.

Finally, he spotted Jordan, who looked even worse than Dan felt, if that was possible.

“Hey,” Jordan said, sitting down with a whump. Big, nasty bags rimmed his eyes behind his glasses.

“You all right? Looking a bit tired there. . .”

“I’m fine,” Jordan snapped, sounding decidedly unfine.

Dan glanced at the doors again. Abby would know how to make this better.

“She’ll show up when she shows up,” Jordan said. “Can’t you even wait a second to see her?” He bit into an English muffin as if it had personally insulted him.

What the hell?

“Are you okay, Jordan?” Dan risked, knowing Jordan might go for him again.

“I’m fine. Jesus, what is this, the Inquisition? Are you on my dad’s payroll now?” The English muffin was dying a painful death in Jordan’s tightening grip. A piece broke off and landed in his bowl of Cap’n Crunch. Jordan fished it out with his chewed-up fingernails.

They fell into an uneasy game of looking anywhere but at each other. Given his options—get chewed out again or stare at his cereal—Dan chose the cereal. Could Jordan still be angry about last night?

With five minutes until the dining hall closed, Abby finally made an appearance. She dashed to the fruit-and-granola line and grabbed a banana and a bowl of yogurt. Her usual sunny disposition was gone. Her eyes were half-lidded, and her pretty olive complexion was ashen.

She sat down with a quick “Hey,” and started eating without another word.

“Hey,” Jordan said. “Did you come down with something? You look terrible.”

“What are you talking about?” Abby glared.

“Nothing, I was just saying you looked radiant. New makeup?”

“Yeah, because sarcasm is exactly what I need right now.”

Dan tried to lighten the mood. “Well, sounds like someone woke up on the wrong side of the gurney.” He immediately wished he had kept his mouth shut.

Abby looked at him, her eyes flashing in anger. She dropped her spoon in her bowl, splattering yogurt all over her tray. “Actually, Dan, there was something important I wanted to talk to you guys about. But I guess it will have to wait.”

With that, she grabbed her tray and left the table.

“Congratulations,” said Jordan. “That might be the briefest relationship in the history of the universe.” Jordan finished his mangled muffin. “In fact, since you’re not even technically a couple yet, it’s sure to be one of those delightful death-by-silent-treatment endings. Quel dommage.”

“What the . . . ? What the hell did I do to piss you guys off?” But Jordan was already on his way out, and Dan ended up saying it to the back of his head.

Dan’s mood worsened in class, when the professor showed a documentary he had already seen, which meant he sat for two hours in the dark, distracted, not a word of the film penetrating his brain while he replayed breakfast in his head. Maybe it wasn’t fair to expect Abby to be sunshine and daisies all the time. Everyone was allowed a bad day here and there. She might have gotten another disheartening text from her sister. Whatever the cause, Dan decided it was foolish to read too much into it. Abby would tell him what was wrong in her own time, and he would be there to listen when she did. He wouldn’t let a bad breakfast spoil things between them.

With that reasonable plan in mind, Dan felt his spirits lift on the walk back to Brookline. Neither Jordan nor Abby had said anything about lunch, so he figured he would try to fit in a bit of studying. Or, he thought, his nerves coming to jittery life, he could make good on his self-promise to visit Sal Weathers. He’d have more than enough time if he hurried.

Felix was in when Dan got back to his room. He was, as always, at his computer. It looked like he was browsing a body-building forum of all things, and Dan noticed that his roommate was sucking down something called Muscle Aid. Which, judging by the strapping, oiled dude on the bottle, was some kind of prepackaged protein shake. Not Felix’s usual diet, but then again, Dan had known the kid for a grand total of a week. Still, he thought Felix looked more buff than he had when they first arrived. His shoulders seemed broader somehow. Maybe protein shakes worked after all.

“Hey,” Dan said, going straight to his own desk.

“Hello, Dan.” Finishing his drink, Felix crushed the plastic bottle in his hand and threw it over his shoulder, and Dan watched, amazed, as it landed squarely in the garbage can behind him.

“Nice throw,” Dan said, trying to cover his surprise.

A crisp white envelope waited on Dan’s keyboard. His heart beat a little faster. Was it from Abby? An apology, or maybe an invitation to go somewhere and talk?

“Did you see who brought this?” Dan asked, opening the envelope.

“No, it was here when I came in. I assumed you put it there before you went to breakfast.”

“Shit. I must have forgotten to lock the door this morning,” Dan said. It was a hard habit to get in to. Still, he could swear he’d locked things up that morning.

“That’s troubling,” Felix replied, not taking his eyes from his computer screen. “Please don’t let that happen again.”

“Sorry, man. I won’t.”

Inside the envelope, Dan found a simple card made of thick paper. On it was just a single line of spidery handwriting, a single question. . . .

Q: How do you kill a hydra?

That was . . . distressing. Dan flipped the card over.

A: You strike at its heart.