She swallows hard because I’m not James right now, I’m Tet. Number Six.

“So if I were you, I’d shut my f**king trap and become invisible. Because you don’t want this kind of attention from me.”

Chapter Three - Harper

I trace my finger down the body of the vehicle. It’s not a car I’ve ever seen. It’s not open-topped, like the Jeeps everyone drives near my old beach.

My fingers catch in a logo on the side of the dusty black body. I bend down and squint my eyes in the dark. Hummer.

I’ve heard of those.

I would probably not be able to drive this thing since I have never actually driven anything bigger than a golf cart on land, but I know how to work a trunk at least. I walk around back and open the cargo area. It’s smaller than it looks from the outside, but then I notice it’s been modified with some kind of storage system. Two long shallow tubs are hidden underneath the false floor of the back. I pull one out and it’s filled with gear. First-aid kit. Basic hygiene things. Other things I can’t identify, but it looks like a bug-out kit to me. Nick had one. Hell—I laugh as I shift my pack against my side—I have one. Only this one in the back of the Hummer looks… legitimate. Mine’s filled with cut-off shorts and tank tops. An extra pair of flip flops and some hair ties.

I push the bin back in and pull out the second one.

Inside are two guns, like two dozen boxes of ammo, and extra magazines. James said the guns are loaded with a round in the chamber. I know what that means. Dangerous. We had guns on the ship. Lots of guns. But I have never so much as touched one. I am a hand-to-hand kind of fighter. Yeah, they could pick me off with a bullet. But I’ve always figured that anyone who kills the Admiral’s daughter is gonna end up dead sooner rather than later. So I’ve never worried too much about being so inept with weapons.

But now? I’m not so sure that my familial relationship is a benefit.

Still, how hard could it be? As long as I don’t accidentally shoot myself.

I take one and stuff it in the waistband of my shorts like I’ve seen the guards wear them on the ship. I don’t want to shoot this gun. I don’t even want to hold this gun. But it’s stupid not to have it on me when it’s available. James said he’ll be here soon and even though my hands are shaking from fighting the panic, the thought of him being so close is calming all by itself.

I push the bin back in but it stops before it reaches the end. Something’s in the way. I pull the gun bin all the way back out and set it on top of the cargo area.

A notebook is flattened up against the back. I peer into the darkness as I make sense of what I’m seeing.

Hello Kitty.

My heart begins to beat faster.

A pink Hello Kitty notebook. Worn and bent. Like it’s been through hell. Like it’s seen things.

My hands are shaking as I pull it out and take it over to the side door where I came in. The sunlight reaches it and the familiar cartoon hits me so hard, I almost fall over.

This is my notebook.

I take a deep breath to calm my racing heart, open the dirty cover, and try to come to terms with what I’m seeing.

A drawing. In pink crayon. I turn the book sideways so I can see it clearly and my heart thumps out of rhythm.

A harp.

I turn the page and there is sloppy printed handwriting in pencil that’s too faded to read in the dim light. I take a moment to allow the significance to sink in.

He… James… is someone I know.

I push the bin back in the cargo area, close the back door, and exit the garage, walking quickly over to the back porch of the prefabricated house. I step lightly up the stairs, shove the house key into the lock and open the door.

The air-conditioning is on full blast and the cold air assaults me and takes my breath away for a moment. There’s a cell phone on the counter and it’s flashing an icon on the screen.

Was someone just here?

I close the door behind me. How hard can it be to shoot a loaded gun? Just pull a trigger, right? The gun and the notebook trade places in an instant. “I’ll shoot you, whoever you are!” I yell. I hold the gun with the barrel pointing up. I might not’ve ever shot a gun before, but I’ve seen how it’s done. I know how our guards carried them. I’m in the kitchen. It’s newly remodeled and open to the dining and living room, which only has a few pieces of furniture, so I know that no one is in this room with me.

I stalk along the wall towards the bedrooms, checking each one, and each closet. I check the bathrooms, the pantry, the front porch, and a small coat closet.

No one. I’m totally alone.

I go back to the phone on the counter with a little relief, and then press the home button to wake it up. Someone was in here.

The flashing icon is there and it says New Message.

I press the tab and a text message pops up. We’ll talk soon. Don’t forget why this is happening. There’s a little icon at the end of the text that looks like it might be a mushroom. And that’s it.

I grab the phone and hold it to my chest. Is this Nick? Was he here? Someone had to drop this phone off. Oh, I’m so happy! I run to the front door and throw it open. I want to scream his name. I know he’s not gonna come back to me now, not if he left me this message, but I want to scream out how much I love and miss him so he’ll know.

But I catch myself and stay silent. I need to hold it together. It’s so close—the worst year of my life is almost over. I just need to hold it together a little longer. So I lift my hand and pretend he’s walking down the driveway and I wave to my imaginary brother.