“Great,” I say. “Well, at least I finally got a straight answer out of him. He says he’s never seen a vision.”

Sawyer turns, a consternated look on his face. “Is he telling the truth?”

“I think so.”

“Whoa,” Rowan says.

“I know.” I stare at the ants digging a home in the crack in the sidewalk. “So I don’t know what this means, except that I really did start it. I can’t blame it on anybody else.” I pause, and then I say decisively, “But the ferry was the last straw. We’re done. I’m done. It’s too dangerous, and I can’t go through this anymore.” I sigh, thinking about the prospects. “Besides, I can’t track down twenty-four strangers to see who might be next. I’m just . . . I’m so fuh-rucking tired of it,” I say. My eyes burn and I press the palms of my hands against them. “I can’t do it anymore.”

Sawyer pulls me close and kisses the side of my head. “You’re right,” he says softly. “It’s too dangerous. Whatever this is, it’s bigger than us. It’s out of our control. And contrary to my statement several days ago, after going through that ferry ordeal I no longer believe we are invincible.”

“So . . . we’re done?” Rowan says.

I nod. “We’re done. I’m calling it. It’s over.”

It’s a relief to say it. Rowan texts Trey to let him know our decision, and he replies: Aw, shucks. I want to see how many more ways we can DIE. Then he follows up with: Secretly, good call.

We sit in silence, contemplating everything we’ve been through, when a car drives up. It occurs to me that it would be awkward if my parents witnessed this exchange, so I stand up and walk to the car. Sawyer and Rowan follow.

The parents get out, and then Bridget does too, slower, using her crutches. She’s wearing new retro cat-eye glasses.

“I’m Alan Brinkerhoff,” Bridget’s dad says. “This is my wife, Emily, and I think you know Bridget.” Bridget waves awkwardly, acting shy in the presence of her parents.

He reaches out to shake our hands.

“I’m Jules,” I say, deciding there’s no need for last names on our end—anonymous is a better way to go. “This is Sawyer, and this is Rowan.”

“We want to thank you,” Mrs. Brinkerhoff says, “for helping Bridge. I still don’t know how we got separated. When I realized she wasn’t with us, I nearly gave up. Everybody was shoving and pushing . . .” She shakes her head, remembering.

“No problem,” Sawyer says. “She was really brave. I’m sure her jump into the water hurt really bad with that ankle.”

Bridget’s ivory cheeks turn red. She reaches into the backseat of the car and holds out Sawyer’s life vest. “Here ya go,” she says, shoving it at him. She reaches back in again and hands him his cell phone and the charger.

Sawyer looks puzzled. “I didn’t have my charger with me,” he says.

“I know,” Bridget replies, “but you bought one later with your twenty bucks.”

“I see,” Sawyer says.

I grin. “Thanks for driving it all the way over here. Do you guys live nearby?”

“No,” Mr. Brinkerhoff says. “We live in Michigan, but we come to Chicago every now and then.”

“I have cancer,” Bridget says matter-of-factly. “I go to the University of Chicago for tests and treatment and stuff. I’ve had it my whole life.”

“Well, not quite,” Bridget’s mother says.

“I was born with it.”

“You were five,” Mrs. Brinkerhoff says. “Stop making things up.”

Bridget grins at me.

“Wow, I’m sorry,” I say. My head is spinning. Cancer?

Mr. Brinkerhoff continues where he left off, like he’s used to Bridget’s interruptions. “Normally, we drive around the lake to get here, but we thought it would be fun to take the car ferry once.”

“Fun!” Bridget snorts. “And now we don’t have a car,” she says. “It totally sank. Probably has fish in it by now. So we got this rental. It’s pretty cool. It has a plug for my iPod in the backseat.”

“Cool,” Rowan says.

“Yeppers,” Bridget says. She bobs her head and looks around. “Huh. Nice little place you got here.”

I stifle another laugh. This girl is a hoot.

“Well,” Sawyer says to Mr. Brinkerhoff, “thanks for driving out here to bring it to me. That was really nice of you.”

“It’s the least we could do. We’d really love to do something more for you,” Mrs. Brinkerhoff says. “Maybe take you out for dinner or something . . .”

Inwardly I recoil. They’re nice and everything, and Bridget is mildly hilarious, but I don’t really want to have a relationship with these people. “Maybe,” I say. “But we only did what anybody would do.”

“I don’t think so,” Mrs. Brinkerhoff says. “Did you miss all the pushing and shoving, and the people stealing other people’s life vests? It was a nightmare. You guys and your calm process—not to mention helping others before yourselves—you probably saved a lot of people.”

“Yeah,” Bridget says. “It was almost like you knew it was going to happen.” She tilts her head and flashes a charming smile, then shoves a stick of gum into her mouth.