Nobody slept that night.
Not really.
They lay down because there was nothing else to do.
Because the sun would eventually rise whether they were ready for it or not, and because Bailey Falls had always been very good at pretending that morning meant something had ended.
But nothing had ended.
Not Vera.
Not the screams.
Not the bodies.
Not the forest.
And certainly not the two people who had walked out of the impossible as though death had simply misplaced them.
By midnight, the town hall had emptied.
People had gone home in small groups, whispering beneath their breath, glancing over their shoulders whenever the road disappeared into darkness.
Nobody wanted to be the last person outside.
Nobody wanted to be the first person alone.
Inside the Collin's house, Ezra stood near the window while Penelope watched Dean sitting on the sofa.
He had barely spoken since they left the clinic.
He kept looking around.
At the walls.
At the furniture.
At the photographs.
