Selena stares at me, her eyes glittering with a fanatical light, her arm drawing back with the knife clutched tight in her hand. She swings at me, going for my throat, but a single shot rings out in the clearing and her arm goes limp, body slumping forward over mine.

The knife drops from her hand to the ground, but I’m too far gone to really register what’s happening.

A moment later, hands are dragging Selena off of me, and I’m looking up into Ian Dave’s face. He has an FBI badge hanging around his neck.

“You’ll be okay, Charlotte,” he says as the boys rush to my side. “You’ll be alright.”

The last thing I see before I pass out is the Student Council, looking at me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.

And that, that’s a good last memory to have.

After the main character in a book dies, there’s always some purple prose shit, a bunch of flowery fluff about a life well-lived, or all the wonderful lessons the person learned before they passed.

Me, I dream about riding a unicorn, seated behind Ranger Woodruff while the twins march along on either side of us. We come to a castle, where Church is the prince, and Spencer is his handsome silver-haired husband …

Not a very sophisticated death knell, is it?

“Charlotte,” a voice whispers as I struggle to blink through the image of Church and Spencer making out on a dais, crowns on their heads, robes trailing out behind them … Oh, dreams are fun, aren’t they? “Charlotte.”

My eyes open and I find myself looking up at the tear-stained face of Archibald Carson.

“Dad?” I say, or at least … I try to say it. Instead, a weird, choking sound comes out before I start to cough. Dad offers me up some water, and I struggle to sit up. He sets the cup aside and helps me get situated in the pillows before he offers it up again. I drink deeply, water spilling out of my lips and soaking the hospital gown I’m wearing. “Where am I?” I whisper, and Dad’s face softens.

“You’re in the hospital, Charlotte,” he breathes, just before the door flies open and my mother appears, blubbering uncontrollably and throwing herself on my bed in a dramatic move that’s worthy of some old Southern movie with women in floppy hats.

“Mom?” I ask, putting a hand up to my face as I try to remember what the hell happened and how I might’ve gotten here. “Where are the boys?”

“In the waiting room,” Dad answers for me, tucking some hair back behind my ear. My gaze latches on his. That’s seriously one of the nicest, sweetest gestures he’s ever done for me. Remember? We don’t show affection.

“What happened?” I ask, flashes of knife fights, and fox masks, and billowing robes flickering through my mind.

“Ian,” Mom says, lifting her face up to look at me, tears still streaming down her cheeks. She looks like she’s hurting the way I did when I thought Spencer was dead, I think, and a hot flush colors my cheeks. “He led the sting operation on the Fellowship. He’s been working on this for years, you know.”

“Ian Dave,” I say, thinking of the dark-haired, grumbly asshole of a librarian. It all makes sense now, why he pulled the yearbooks, why he tried to stop us from sleuthing around.

“He’s on a special task force that handles cults,” Mom continues proudly, beaming as she smiles at me.

“He said that he was an investigator,” I hedge, rubbing at my head. “Did they catch the bad guys then?”

“Most of the cultists were arrested,” Dad says, nodding. “They’re combing the woods and the tunnels to see if anyone else escaped. Unfortunately, that girl that tried to kill you is still alive, even though she was shot.”

I shift in the bed and then cringe a bit when I feel a pulling sensation in my lower back.

Oh, that’s right.

I was stabbed.

I was stabbed.

“I got stabbed,” I repeat, and then a small smile lights my lips. “That makes me cool, doesn’t it?”

“Charlotte Carson,” Dad snaps as I glance over at him, realizing in that moment that every asshole thing he does, every barked command and sneer … is because he’s my parent. And parents, parents are dicks. Even good parents. Especially good parents. Because sometimes teenagers are rebellious little ass pigs.

“You’re sure my boys are okay?” I repeat, just before a light knock on the door interrupts our conversation.

“Come in,” Dad says with a resigned sigh.

The door flies open and the twins come rushing in, throwing their arms around me from either side and making me both laugh and grunt with the impact.

“We were sure you were dead!” they howl, rubbing their faces on either side of mine.

My mom chokes on tears and holds a tissue up to her mouth to stifle her sobs. My dad just backs off a few steps, watching over me like a hawk.

“Would you two back off and let her breathe?” Ranger growls, still clearly shaken up by the confrontation with his father. I mean, knowing your dad is part of a crazy cult is one thing, but hearing the bullshit from the horse’s mouth? Not easy. “How are you feeling?” he asks me, putting one of his hands over my blanketed feet and giving my toes a squeeze.

“I’m okay,” I say as the twins sit on either side of me, releasing me from their maniacal hugging. “Plus, I get to tell everyone I meet from now on that I survived an attack from a rich, powerful cult.”

Church’s lips turn up into a smile, one that actually reaches his eyes for once.

“I was afraid I’d never get to see you in that wedding dress,” he says, making my dad bristle.

“Same,” Spencer agrees, glancing briefly Church’s way before turning back to me. “I would’ve died if you had, Chuck.”

“Archie, maybe we should let them have a moment?” Mom suggests, giving my dad a look from across the hospital room. His nostrils flare and his face turns that signature color of his, but he relents, moving over to press a kiss to my forehead before he steps out. I notice he doesn’t quite close the door behind him, but that’s okay. Like I said, parents are dicks.

“Seeing you lying on the ground in your dress, all covered in blood …” Tobias starts, taking my hand in his and entwining our fingers together. “Pretty sure that sight is going to haunt me for the rest of my life.”

“You’re one tough bitch, Chuck Carson,” Micah says, looking down at his lap. I can tell he’s trying to be upbeat, but he’s still got tears in his eyes when he looks up and grins at me. “God, we hated you so much when you showed up at Adamson. Now we’re all, like, clinically obsessed. What have you done to us?”

“I’m like a splinter—once I’m in, you can’t get me out without bleeding!” I say, trying to be funny but totally and utterly fucking it up because I’m a shitty comedian. Also, I got stabbed. That’s a great excuse for everything now, huh? I can just mess stuff up and say I got stabbed. Should work for at least six months or so.

“That’s the worst metaphor I’ve ever heard in my life,” Ranger says, sighing like he’s releasing a ton of pent-up stress. “After you almost bled to death in the woods? What is wrong with you?”