“Oh my God, Jules,” Sawyer says, and I can see he’s straining not to raise his voice. “This is not our problem. Are you kidding me? You are not responsible for saving the whole fucking world. Besides, where’d you get your vision from, then?”

I look down at the pavement. And I wonder, not for the first time, if my father’s illness is responsible for this. And my grandfather’s, too. Maybe these visions have been a Demarco family curse for generations, and I just unleashed the curse to the rest of the world. Back when I was feeling sick out of my mind, seeing that explosion and Sawyer in a body bag, I almost asked Dad if he’d ever had a vision. Maybe I should have. Because what if he’s been having a vision for years, but he doesn’t know what to do? And what if my grandfather had a vision too, and it got so bad that he killed himself—because it was the only way he knew to be free of it? Maybe the Angottis actually have very little to do with my family’s history of depression, and it’s been this all along. What if all visions started with Demarcos and stayed with Demarcos, and none of us figured out how to get them to stop, so the visions festered inside of people until it ruined them. And then I came along and stopped mine. And by stopping my vision, I passed the curse to someone I saved. And by stopping Sawyer’s . . . Well. I just have to find out.

“It started with me,” I say. I glance up at Sawyer. “But that doesn’t really matter, does it? It doesn’t change anything. It’s what happens next that matters. We’re talking about people’s lives—what if Trey hadn’t helped me save you? What if Trey and I hadn’t helped you with the shooting? I can’t let some traumatized shooting victim handle the next thing alone.” I shrug. “I can’t. I unleashed the beast.”

Sawyer stares at me. And then slowly he shakes his head, and I can tell his mind is made up. “No way,” he says. “No way.”

One look at his set jaw and I know he’s not going to change his mind. I hold his gaze a moment more, and then I nod and attempt a smile, because this is not his battle. He’s a victim of the Demarco curse, like everybody else.

“Okay,” I say. “I understand.” I pull the keys from my pocket, and then I reach up and caress Sawyer’s cheek, pull him close. Kiss him until the tension between us melts away. And when we pull apart, I tell him I love him. And that I have to do this—I have to find out if anybody else is having a vision. And if someone is, I have to help. That’s the way it’s going to be, that’s my responsibility, and I’m going to do it. Invincible or not, I started this, and I’m in it until I see a way out.

He just stares at me like I’ve lost my mind again.

I hope I can’t find anyone with a vision. With all my heart, I hope this mess ends with us, but frankly, I doubt it does. And I can’t rest until I know for sure.

When I get home it’s late. Rowan’s fast asleep. I lie on my bed, eyes closed, trying to picture the music room. Trying to count the people in there. Wondering where to start, how to track them all down. What to say when I do. Eventually I get up and find Trey watching late-night TV in the living room. He’s got his bad arm in a sling, the other hand in a bowl of popcorn.

“Hey. You have Ben’s phone number, right?” I ask. He shoves popcorn in his mouth and nods, eyes narrowing. “Why?” he asks, his mouth full.

“I need it.”

He stares at me, chewing slowly. He swallows and pauses the TV show. “Why,” he says again, suspicious.

I drop my gaze, studying a stack of board games, trying to decide if I should tell him. Finally, I say in a softer voice, “I just do. I need to make sure nobody new is . . . affected.”

His hand drops to his lap. His eyes close, and he sighs heavily. “Shit,” he says. “You gotta be kidding me.”

I stare at the floor.

He sits up, his voice suddenly concerned, like he’s just realizing what I’m saying. “Wait. If Sawyer passed the vision to Ben,” Trey says, “I swear I’ll shoot you both in the face.”

“I know. Just give me the number. I’ll call him in the morning.”

He hesitates a moment more, like he can’t believe this is happening, then sets the popcorn bowl on a pile of magazines next to the chair and pulls his phone from his pocket. He forwards Ben’s contact info to my phone. “Try not to sound like a total psycho. And, you know. Don’t make me look bad.”

“Yeah, sure. No problem.”

He attempts a reassuring smile, but his eyes are worried when I say good night.

At three in the morning my cell phone buzzes, and at first I think it’s a dream. I finally wake up enough to answer. It’s Sawyer. “Hey,” I whisper, propping myself up on my elbow. “What’s up?”

The line is quiet, but I know he’s there. I can almost feel his chest move as he breathes, see his earnest eyes adorned with those ropy lashes, sense the trepidation in his voice before he speaks. And all he does is whisper three simple, beautiful words that I’ve come to love hearing.

“Okay,” he says. “I’m in.”