“The way you used to want her?” He’d love Sabine once—for real—but claimed to have gotten over her. If he was lying, wouldn’t he eventually realize he wanted her back? And if he was telling the truth, did that mean he could get over me just as easily as he’d gotten over her?

“Yeah,” he said, and I had a moment of panic until I realized he was answering the question I’d actually voiced, not the ones playing over and over in my head. “But now she’s just a friend.”

“Have you told her that?”

“I tell her all the time.”

I pushed the bowl away, my appetite suddenly gone. “She seems to be selectively deaf.”

“Well, she’s stubborn, and she definitely knows what she wants.” He paused, and I looked up to find him watching me. “I wish I could say the same about you.”

I closed my eyes, trying to draw my thoughts and a tangle of emotions I couldn’t even describe into some kind of coherent stream. I knew what I wanted. But Sabine was right—I was scared to be with Nash while he was still fighting cravings, because if he gave in, even just once, the Netherworld would have him again. And if it had Nash, it would also have a piece of me. But I couldn’t tell him to his face that I didn’t have absolute faith in his recovery.

So I said nothing, and there was only silence. Painful, tense silence, like a wire wound so tight it would soon snap and lash us both. And finally Nash spoke, staring at the hands he clasped loosely between his wide-spread knees.

“Kaylee, do you even want me back? Because if you don’t, and I make her go, I’ve lost both my girlfriend and my best friend.”

“She’s your best friend now?” How was that even possible? She’d only been here for three days! That was an insanely short period of time for everything that had changed!

“She’s my best friend again. In case you haven’t noticed, the other candidates have vacated the position,” he snapped, and for just a moment, I saw a glimpse of the bitter, brittle pain he’d kept bottled up since Doug’s death and Scott’s descent into madness, buried beneath his own dark cravings and wavering willpower. “And as you pointed out, Tod’s barely speaking to me.”

“Well, then, you need to find a better friend.” I stood and stomped into the kitchen with my bowl of popcorn. “Someone who won’t try to carve me out of your life or feed from your friends’ fear.”

Nash followed me. “You didn’t answer the question.”

“You’re not asking the right one.” I set the bowl next to the sink and turned to face him. “Do I want you back? Yes. Desperately. Even though part of me thinks I shouldn’t. But wanting you isn’t enough anymore. I need to know that it’s not going to happen again. Any of it.”

“You don’t trust me.” He crossed his arms over his chest, the line of his jaw tight.

“And she says I never will, right?” I demanded, and Nash nodded. “Do you even realize what she’s doing? She’s telling you I’ll never be able to trust you, while she’s tempting you to betray my trust. She’s engineering her own predictions.”

“Is she right?”

“I don’t know!” I crossed the kitchen to throw away my popcorn bag, determined to keep space between us, because when I got close to him, it was hard to remember what I was thinking, even without his Influence. When he was close, all I wanted to do was hold him and remember how that used to feel. How it could still feel, if I could at least forgive, even if I never truly forgot. “You have to earn trust, and you don’t do that by hanging out with your ex-girlfriend until all hours of the night.”

Nash leaned against the tiled peninsula, watching me. “I wish you would stop thinking of her as my ex and start thinking of her as my friend.”

“I wish she would do the same!” I whirled on him and threw my hands in the air, exasperation practically leaking from my pores. He looked miserable, and I was pretty sure I looked crazy, so I took a deep breath and forced my voice back into the realm of reasonable.

“Okay, look.” I took a deep breath, bracing myself for what I had to say next. I didn’t want to do it this way—I’d wanted to wait until I had some kind of evidence—but waiting no longer seemed to make sense. “This entire conversation is probably pointless, anyway.”

He frowned, hazel eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“I think she killed them, Nash. Mr. Wesner and Mrs. Bennigan, and Mr. Wells. Your ‘best friend’ is a murderer.”

“No.” Nash shook his head without hesitation, and I almost felt sorry for him. It must be hard to surface from such a sea of denial and finally breathe the bitter truth.

“What, she didn’t tell you that, either? Maybe she’s the one who can’t be trusted.”

He crossed the kitchen toward the breakfast table in one corner and pulled out a chair with his brows raised, asking me to sit with him. I nodded reluctantly and sank onto the seat he’d offered. He took the one on my left. “Kaylee, Sabine didn’t kill them. I know it’s weird, three teachers dying so close together, and it’s definitely suspicious. But she had nothing to do with it. Why would you even think that?”

“Because maras suck the life force out of people while they dream.” I was frustrated and half-embarrassed by my lack of proof, but thoroughly convinced I was right. “Sabine shows up at Eastlake, and suddenly three teachers are dead. And they all died in their sleep. It’s not a huge leap in logic.”