Cassidy was all over social media, even though the news couldn’t report her name since she was a minor at seventeen.

Past tense was beginning to make Lia sick.

“They just want to talk with you since you knew everyone,” her mom said, fixing Lia’s hair and holding out her nice coat. She must have grabbed it before leaving the house. She must have known they wanted to talk to Lia before Cassidy’s death was even on the official news and not just Twitter. “What happened to your face?”

“Tree branch I ran past,” she said. “So that’s great.”

“Just answer their questions,” said her mom. “Don’t be smart. Don’t tell them more than they ask. I’ll be in there with you.”

As they parked, Lia shoved her bag into the back of the car. There was nothing in there to help her. If anything, her journal made her look absurd. She had stalked her classmates, and now someone was killing them. She had been one of the last to see Ben and one of the people to find him, and now she had been alone—for all she could prove—in the park where Cassidy was killed.

Abby looked even worse.

Would Gem and Devon simply blame trauma for Lia forgetting she murdered two people?

God, they all thought Lia had killed people.

The police station was crowded when they arrived. A few people lingered on the sidewalk, checking phones and pictures on big, professional cameras. A cop met them at their car and escorted them in, keeping their body between Lia and the street, and they were led through a back door. Lia swallowed, sinking into a chair as they were told to wait. Her mom sat with her.

“Is Dad coming?” Lia asked.

“No,” her mom said, “he’s looking into something else.”

They made Lia wait. It was at least thirty minutes after she sat down before a tall white man she vaguely recognized as Detective James came to greet them. He had spoken to Lia after Ben’s death.

“Mrs. Prince, Lia, thank you for waiting. Come on in here,” he said, leading them into a small conference room and shutting the door behind them. He pulled out a chair for Lia and gestured to one for her mom. He was in a wrinkled suit that might’ve been the one he had been wearing last time Lia saw him, but this time he didn’t pull at the knot of his tie. “How are you, Lia?”

“I’m okay, I think,” she said. “Thanks.”

Three dead—two times Lia had been there and one time she hadn’t.

“As you probably know, another of your classmates was found a little while ago,” he said, and set his elbows on the table. “Cassidy Clarke. Did you know her?”

“Yeah.” Lia took a breath. “She sat in front of me in a few classes, and she’s been in a few more since freshman year.”

“But you didn’t know her well?” he asked.

The room was off-white and bare, and the soft sound of her mom’s breath rumbled in Lia’s ear. There was nothing in there to look at except James. She didn’t have anything to do with Cassidy’s death, but her heart hammered away anyway.

“No, she was in choir and she was really good in history.” Lia shrugged and crossed her arms, shoving her shaking hands underneath them. “She just got the Governor’s Scholarship. She was really happy about it.”

Detective James nodded. “Her parents mentioned that. They also mentioned a game that the seniors play in secret. A game about killing each other.”

“Assassins,” Lia said. It wasn’t really a secret. The students just liked pretending it was and that they were mysterious killers. “She was. Most people in Lincoln have played it.”

“It’s why you were following Abby the morning she died, right?” he asked.

“Yeah, she was my team’s first target,” she said.

“Have you remembered anything else since we spoke last?” He jotted something down on his notebook, his gaze never quite finding hers. The way his wrinkles and beard trembled as he spoke kept his expression unreadable. “Anything at all that might be helpful?”

The back of her neck prickled, and her stomach rolled. She felt exactly as she had in the park, watching the shadowy figure watch her, except now there were emails on her phone she hadn’t sent. There was a picture of someone she didn’t know in her email. There were two people who had been following her.

She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry.”

“You know, it’s weird,” the detective said, laughing softly and leaning back in his chair. “I’ve worked here for twenty years, and I can’t place you at all. Saw your brother Mark play in the state finals as a junior. I could pick him or Abby or Ben or Cassidy out of a crowd. You, though? There wasn’t even gossip about you until you were found with Abby.”

Lia picked at her shirtsleeves. “I’ve never really done anything worth remembering.”

“No,” he said, “you haven’t.”

He pulled a small folder out from under his notebook, the white edges of a photo fanning out from within it. He pulled it out to reveal a small pink water gun lying in the grass.

“I wasn’t in Lincoln till a few years ago,” he said, turning the photo so that she could see it right side up. “Folks talk about Assassins like it’s real assassins, but most of it’s harmless. All fun and games. Most of the people in that room out there played it. They said this was fairly usual—girl alone in a park with nothing but a water gun and flashlight after school. You have one, right?”

Lia nodded. “Mine’s blue.”

“Yeah, this was Cassidy’s.” The pink gun was identical to the one Lia had seen in that photo sent to Devon.

“You were pretty beaten up when you found Abby.” His gaze darted to her cheek and then back to his folder. “Bruised knees, hands, and one bad one across your calves.”

“I tripped,” Lia said. “Like Abby.”

“Which is weird since there was nothing to trip over.” He pulled out another picture, this one of a small knife. It was the dull short kind that came with a full set of silverware in fancy lunch boxes. A few people at school used them. They only just passed the “no knives” rule because they were no more dangerous than the plastic ones in the cafeteria. “Do you recognize this?”

“No,” Lia said, even though she could think of only one reason for why he would ask.

He laid another two photos before her, this time one of a tree, where a thin circle of bark had been worn away from the trunk. The other was of a pale, battered leg, which was marred by a narrow red line across the shin. “At least, there was nothing to trip over when we got there, but it was just you and Abby in Pleasant Pines.”

The back of Lia’s throat grew hot and damp. Her mouth watered. She whispered, “Is that her leg?”

“You had tried to take her out the day before, hadn’t you?” he asked. “But you missed, she got hurt, and it almost got the game canceled. It was you who convinced Principal White not to ban it.”

Lia closed her eyes.

“And Ben Barnard, bless him, got taken out of the game right before he was killed.” Pages rustled, and a photo slid across the metal table. “According to friends, he got shot in the hand.”

Lia shook her head. “I saw his hand. I can’t see it again. I don’t want to see it again. Please take it away.”

“How did you cut your cheek?” he asked.

“I was running,” she said. “From my assassin. They chased after me when Gem dropped me off at home.”

Her mom sucked in a breath. “You were supposed to stop playing.”

“Everyone was, but you didn’t,” said James. “And you were running through Pleasant Pines, right? Near Pine Valley pool?”

“I was on the phone with Devon,” Lia said. “I didn’t see Cassidy at all.”

“You sent him a picture, too. You didn’t just talk to him.”

Lia opened her eyes, and James covered up Ben’s picture with a different one. Cassidy, face hidden by her hood, splayed out in the grass next to one of the cement tables near Pine Valley pool. Red stained the corner of the table. The pink water gun lay in the grass next to her. Lia gagged.

“No…no, Cassidy wasn’t there when I was there,” Lia said, stammering. “There was this other person following me, and I shot them, but they didn’t stop to exchange information. We’re supposed to exchange information when we get a kill, but they just kept following me, so I ran. Cassidy wasn’t there. There wasn’t anyone else there.”

“You took them out?” he asked. He was far too calm for this. Three people were dead, and Lia was sure if she opened her mouth again, nothing but screaming would come out. “Are you sure Cassidy didn’t take you out?”

This time the picture he put before her was a printout of a single email. Lia had been Cassidy’s target.

“You take the game pretty seriously. That’s what everyone said when we talked to them after Ben. He was, too, but you were obsessed. You followed everyone you thought would play all last year and made a little journal, didn’t you? You wrote down their schedules, their fears, their friends. You stalked your whole class,” said James. “I don’t get the game. It’s tradition, sure, but that’s more than anyone else. Even the guys out there said they didn’t go that hard. But you did. You wanted to win. You didn’t want to be forgettable, hidden in your older brother’s shadow anymore, did you? Abby, Ben, Cassidy—they were all high achievers. You’re just Lia Prince, and you were jealous.”

And it was all true and terrible, but Lia shook her head.

“This game is a way for you to finally get recognized,” he said, “but Abby, Ben, and Cassidy were going to ruin that for you. Three kids with achievements taking away the only thing you had.”

“No.”

She wanted to be noticed. God, no one realized how much invisibility hurt. If she were a terrible daughter, at least her parents might pay attention to her, but being mediocre was worse. Too good to need help, too bad to need attention. Her parents, her teachers, her friends—no one ever paid attention to just her.

“You set up a trip wire for Abby.” James gathered his photos and tucked them away. “You went back to Ben’s and took out your anger on him, and when you found him the next day, you contaminated the scene to explain away anything we might find. Cassidy assassinated you in the game, but you couldn’t let her get away with that.”

“No,” Lia said again. “And I can prove it.”

She knew it went against every episode of Law & Order she had ever seen, but she pulled out her phone.

“Lia!” Her mom grabbed her arm, and Lia shook her off.

“No, look. I didn’t send any of those messages to Devon. The IP address they came from in my account isn’t my phone. That photo was taken with someone else’s phone.” Lia scrolled through her messages and opened the one from the restricted number. “Even the Council for Assassins knew those emails weren’t me. I wanted to win the game, but they were my friends. I never hurt any of them.”

Abby Ascher. Ben Barnard. Cassidy Clarke.

That was a lie. They hadn’t been her friends, but they deserved real justice. All the shows and movies said killers stuck their noses into investigations, but Lia had been tossed into this one.

“I didn’t hurt any of them,” she said. “I didn’t even have my journal until today. Someone stole it from our biology room.”

And it had her email address right there on the front page.

“But you have it now?” James asked, his face hard. “Convenient.”

People had been doing it for ages. Lia had even copied and pasted the roster directly into the journal and then crossed off the names of those she figured weren’t playing. The list was glued onto the first few pages.

“I’m not the only one who does it,” she said. “I even—”

“That’s enough.” Lia’s mom dropped her hand on the table. “We’re done. Are you arresting her?”

A chill oozed down Lia’s spine.

“No—” said James, and Lia’s mom interrupted him.

“Then I’m taking Lia home, where she will stay.” Her fingers found Lia’s arm and pulled her up. “If you wish to speak with her again, please contact our lawyer. My husband has just arrived and should have that information for you should it be necessary. We’re leaving.”

They did let her go. Lia’s thoughts were jumbled, her ears full of that same rushing again. They weren’t keeping her. They could have kept her, she was pretty sure. They had to know that you could trace the origin of photos. They had to know she didn’t kill Abby, Ben, and Cassidy.

Devon and Gem had to know that.

Lia’s mom sat her in the backseat of the car and crawled in there with her. She buckled Lia in. Her fingers shook, and it took four tries before she got the seat belt into the clip. Lia pulled out her phone.

“I wish you hadn’t done that,” her mom whispered.

“I didn’t send those emails,” Lia said. “Even the Council knew it.”

Her mom shook her head. “Lia, do you even know who you’re taking orders from for this stupid game?”

She didn’t. The Council was the Council. There was always one, and they were always anonymous.

Lia scrolled through the list of Assassins participant schedules she kept on her phone. Abby wasn’t even in this version, but she would’ve been first. Instead, Ben was, followed by Eric Bins. Cassidy was third on Lia’s list.

Her mom said nothing else. Her father didn’t talk to her either. They talked over her on the drive home. They talked about lawyers and costs, Mark potentially coming back and missing out on class, and Lia being suspended from school. Her mom dragged her from the car to her bedroom. Lia sat on her bed.

“Lia,” she said softly, kneeling in front of her and holding her hands. “I won’t be angry. I just need to know.”

Lia’s stomach clenched. “You should know.”

“I should,” her mom said, “so please tell me.”

“No, I mean you should know me well enough by now.” Lia pulled away. “What do you think happened?”

“Lia,” her mom said sharply. “I do not want to play one of your games right now.”

“This isn’t a game. Even if it were, you have never played any of my games. You don’t even know if I’m a murderer? You don’t know me well enough to know the answer to that? You would never even think Mark would kill anyone, but you have to ask me?” Lia tugged at her hair, her sleeves, anything she could hold that wouldn’t put up a fight. “I heard him say it. Mark’s your favorite. Of course he is. The words made all those little things real, and now this.”

“That’s not true. Lia, you are our daughter, and we love you.” Her mom went out into the hall and waved for her father to come. Lia could feel the “but” at the end of that sentence building up in her chest. “We know this Assassins game was important to you, but it’s just a stupid game, and you’re throwing—”

“It wasn’t a stupid game when Mark almost won!” Lia leapt to her feet. The anger welled up in her so fast and hot that she couldn’t breathe deep enough to speak. There weren’t any words left for what she was feeling. There were too many words she wanted to say. It all burst out of her in a shriek.

Lia slammed her bedroom door shut and locked it with a trembling hand. She slid to the floor.

An hour later, when the words came back and her hands stopped shaking too badly for her to write, she slipped a note under the door.

I didn’t.

And it hurt that she even had to say it.