The day Tristan had fled, the guys had tossed his room and found the one picture I had left of my family in the bottom of his trunk. It had been taken from my house on the night my father had been ushered to the Shadowlands.

“Think about it. In his note he said he was trying to figure out how to get into the Shadowlands to rescue those people. To do that he’d have to spend time near or on the bridge, like you said,” Lauren theorized, approaching us from the spot she’d taken against the east wall. “Maybe Tristan and Nadia saw Pete bring Darcy and Asha to the bridge last night. Maybe they were going to tell us, so he tracked them down and—”

“Found a way to stop them,” Joaquin finished, staring at Tristan.

I deflated, sinking in to one of the armchairs. For the last few days I had been focusing so much of my energy on hating Tristan, on what I would do and say to him if I ever saw him again, on making myself not love him anymore. The idea that he might be innocent…I couldn’t process it. I leaned forward, elbows to knees, and gasped for air, trying to get a hold of myself.

“We have to bring Pete in,” the mayor said. “We need to know why he did this. We need to know how to set it right.”

“Do you think he’s going to die?” Lauren asked tremulously, gripping the back of my chair.

My head snapped up. The mayor crossed to Tristan—the boy who acted as her son—and knelt next to him. She checked his wound and grasped his wrist between her thumb and fingers. With a gentle touch, she smoothed his blond hair away from his forehead, where the rain and perspiration had plastered it down. It was a perfectly motherly gesture, and until that moment, I wouldn’t have believed she had it in her.

Please let him be okay, I thought. Please, please, please.

Even as I thought it, I could feel Joaquin watching me, and it took every ounce of self-control to not look him in the eye. I didn’t know what he would see there, but I was sure he wouldn’t like it.

“His pulse is strong. We need to move him to a bed, sterilize the wound. Get him some fluids.” The mayor stood up and pressed her lips together. Whatever she was feeling, she was keeping it bottled up as tightly as possible. “With any luck, he’ll be okay.”

Suddenly our walkie-talkies crackled to life. “Bea? Come in, Bea?” Ursula’s voice crackled through the speakers. “Pete was spotted in the town square just now. We tried to stop him, but he got away. He was headed for the docks. Over.”

I was out of my seat and headed for the door before the last zap of static had faded away.

“Rory, wait—” Joaquin started, but I cut him off.

“No more waiting,” I said, already moving toward the door. “I’m going to find Pete, and I’m going to end this before anyone else gets hurt.”

Joaquin and Fisher exchanged a look. “We’re coming with you,” Joaquin said.

“No,” I said, whipping the door open. I was hit by a blast of cold air to the face. “I want to do this on my own.”

“No way.” Bea came up behind Fisher and Kevin, pulling her hat on over her hair. “As of now, no one goes anywhere alone anymore.”

I swallowed hard. The girl had a point. After all, we could die now.

“Fine. But when we find him, I get to interrogate him,” I said through my teeth.

Joaquin flipped his hood up. “So where do we start? His place? The Swan?”

“You guys?” Cori cleared her throat meekly. Her face was still streaked with tears, but her chin was set in grim determination. I could only imagine what she was going through, losing one of her best friends and finding out that the other was responsible. The very fact that she was able to stand right now made her worthy of awe. “I think I know where he’s going.”

I glanced around at the others and saw they were just as impressed as I was. I reached for Cori’s hand.

“Show us the way.”

“The Bait and Tackle?” Bea asked as the five of us huddled under a battered and torn awning at the north end of the docks. We were standing across the boardwalk from the business in question. “You think he’s in there?”

“I can’t imagine anyone would dare go in there,” I said with a shiver.

The Bait & Tackle was a square, gray-shingled building built into the center of a wide plank dock that stretched out over the bay. The roof was concave on one side, and the whole thing listed to the left so far I was surprised it hadn’t already toppled over. The hand-painted BAIT & TACKLE sign was cracked in the middle, right over the ampersand, and hung in a V shape over the front door.

“He started hanging out there late at night a while ago,” Cori said with a sniffle, a relentless stream of water pouring off the gutter and onto the shoulder of her black rain jacket. “Tommy told him he couldn’t spin in the house anymore, so he snuck a bunch of equipment out here to keep practicing. Nadia and I are the only people he told.”

“He hid a DJ deck inside a bait-and-tackle shop because his fake dad wouldn’t let him keep it at home?” I asked dubiously.

Fisher sighed. “Tommy runs this place. He’s doesn’t really keep track of anything. I bet he hasn’t even noticed it.”

“Pete keeps his stuff covered with a tarp in the back of the stock room,” Cori said, her teeth chattering. “So are we going to get him or not?”

Joaquin nodded and stepped out from under the awning. “Fish, you, Bea, and Cori get the front door. Rory and I will go around the back. If he’s there, we’ll draw him out. He might bolt around front, so keep your eyes peeled.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

We moved away from the shingled wall, our feet slapping through the shallow puddles that had gathered on the boardwalk’s weathered planks. There was one creaky light hanging from a curved metal post in front of the Bait & Tackle’s front door. It swung like a metronome in the wind, illuminating the words on the sign over the door one by one. BAIT. TACKLE. BAIT. TACKLE. BAIT. TACKLE.

We reached the front door. Fisher and Cori stood off to one side, Bea on the other. Joaquin gave me a nod, and we crept around the short south-facing wall of the building, ducking beneath one window that had the blind drawn anyway and paused at the back. The dock stretched out so far over the water I could barely make out the end of it in the storm. Rod holders were screwed to every other pylon so that fishermen could rest their fishing rods while they spent the day hanging out and hoping for a catch. In the distance, I saw a rocky jetty in the bay parallel to the dock, the churned-up waters of the usually placid surface smashing against the stones.

Joaquin stepped up and pounded on the back door. “Pete!” he shouted. “We know you’re in there. Come out and we promise you won’t get—”

Suddenly the door burst open, swinging outward and hitting Joaquin square in the face. Pete darted out and ran right past me, vaulting over the guardrail on the dock and dropping onto the sand below. Joaquin fell backward, his head knocking against the wood planks. He was out cold. I hesitated a split second, torn between chasing Pete and making sure Joaquin was all right.

“Sonofabitch!” I shouted in frustration.

Then I sprinted as fast as I could along the side of the building, blowing right by Fisher, Bea, and Cori.

“What the hell happened?” Bea shouted.

“Check on Joaquin!” I blurted back. I tore around the corner and up the boardwalk. The stairs down to the beach were yards away, and Pete had a lead on me as he raced along the sand, but in seconds he would hit the jetty. With any luck, he would try to scramble over it, which would be next to impossible with the rocks slicked down by rain and algae. Hopefully it would help me make up time.

Heart pumping, I ran as fast as I could, trying not to think about Joaquin and whether he was okay. Trying not to think about Tristan or Nadia or Darcy or my dad. I had to run the race of my life. Everyone’s existence depended on it.