A steady beeping sounds somewhere nearby. My temples ache, and there’s a fire-hot burning in my throat. I blink my eyes open. Harsh sunlight streams in through a window. I’m lying in a hospital bed. Wires are taped all over my chest, and there’s a tube in my throat.

The vitals monitor beeps faster as my heart rate speeds up.

Lyla. Oh my God, where’s Lyla?

There’s a rustling to my left, and then Mom’s at my side. Dad and Jenny hover behind her, their big eyes full of fear.

Dad?

“It’s okay, Hope,” Mom says, smoothing my hair. “We’re here. You can breathe. The machine is doing its job.”

I fumble for the tape that holds the tube in place, desperate to yank the thing out so I can talk, but Mom pulls my hands away and yells, “Nurse!”

A young nurse with a swishy blond ponytail runs into the room.

“She’s trying to pull her tube out,” Mom says.

I want to explain, but the damn tube makes speaking impossible.

The nurse sees Mom struggling to restrain me and disappears. She’s back a moment later, and she’s brought friends. An orderly takes over for Mom while the nurse injects something into the IV in my hand. Cool liquid rushes through my veins.

“We’re giving you something to help you relax,” a young woman in a white lab coat says.

The room gets fuzzy.

Ethan, I think.

And then everything goes black.

Dad, tucking my hair behind my ear. The ping ping ping of Jenny playing a game on her phone. Hushed voices. An overhead page. Squeaky wheels clattering down the hall. Plastic rustling. A cold bell pressed against my chest. A murmured “Good.” Eyes weighted with a thousand tons of lead, too drugged to open.

Falling, falling,

Falling.

When I wake up next, the tube is gone. Dad is gone too. Could be in the cafeteria getting a bite to eat, or could be halfway to New York and a new, skeezy moneymaking venture. I find I don’t actually care. Mom is here.

She’s sitting on the bench seat under the window, frowning at a crossword puzzle. There are purple-black bruises under her eyes and deep wrinkles in her T-shirt. She hasn’t left the hospital in days, at least.

She notices I’m awake and jumps up, the pencil clattering to the ground.

“Hope!”

“Mom,” I manage. My throat burns, and I swallow to moisten it.

“How are you feeling? Are you okay? What can I do? Do you need water?” She hovers over the bed, and I shake my head.

“Lyla,” I say.

Mom’s mouth screws up tight, and she sits down hard.

She knows. I don’t know much, but she knows.

“Is she…?” I ask. “Do they have her?”

She jerks her head once, a resigned no. I’m breathing faster. Harder. She’s out there, and she wants me dead.

“There’s security posted outside the room twenty-four seven,” Mom says, guessing my thoughts. “They’ll find her soon. She can’t hide forever.”

I nod mutely, eyes wide, and Mom tucks my hair behind my ear, then pulls my head to her chest. She smells like Chantilly perfume over hospital shampoo.

She’s out there. She’s free.

“Oh, Hope,” she whispers. “What happened? How—how did any of this happen?”

I don’t want to tell her. I’m so humiliated and ashamed and horrified and utterly, utterly devastated that it got to this point, that I did this to her. That a girl—a friend—is dead from our game. But she’s going to have to find out sometime, and I can’t keep hiding the truth from her forever. Lyla is out there, and she’ll come after me again. After Jenny. After her.

So I take a deep breath and…spill.

I’m out of breath when I’m finished, and I can tell Mom doesn’t know whether to scream at me or cry. And I understand. I can hardly believe any of this happened either. That Lyla, the girl I was starting to think of as a real friend, could have betrayed me the way she did, carried such a darkness inside her that she wanted me dead, wanted us all dead. I don’t know if I’ll sleep well at night ever again, if I’ll ever not feel guilty for being the one who survived instead of Hartley, who had a full life ahead of her. If I’ll always taste dirt in my mouth.

Mom’s jaw works, and she swallows hard, but then she pulls me back into a hug.

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” she whispers.

I close my eyes against a rush of tears. It’s over, and I should be happy. I’m safe. I’m alive. They’re going to find Lyla. I have a mother who loves me. Everything else shouldn’t matter.

But it does.

I try to hold it in. It’s not the time. But what has logic ever had to do with any of this? A small, pained sound escapes me.

Mom pulls back sharply and looks me over for injury. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Do I need to call the doctor?” She starts to stand again, but I grab her arm, fingers digging into tender flesh.

“No,” I say, then release my grip. She rubs her arm, staring at me gimlet-eyed, and then sits down again.

I know I made a lot of mistakes. I was reckless, I pushed myself too far. I did damage to my body, maybe even irreparable damage—the body she worked so hard to keep in shape. But I’m not prepared to go back to my old life. With Mom so desperate to make sure I don’t die that she won’t let me live. To sit in that apartment collecting dust until I can’t breathe anymore. Until I turn to dust.

I can’t live with fear and limits dictating everything I do.

“Mom, I love you,” I say. “But…we need to talk.”