Chapter Thirty-Two Willa

Chapter Thirty-Two

Willa

Now: Sunday, 5:15 a.m.

Something startles me awake. A far-off sound…the echo of a lock turning? I stretch like a cat, fingertips reaching for Liam's solid warmth. But the bedsheets beyond me are cold. Poking my head above the comforter, I peel open my eyes to find the room tinged with dusk. It's not yet morning; the last vestiges of night cling to the walls. I can no longer hear the storm. Has it stopped?

A dark shape hovers by the window. My heart leaps into my throat. It's them. The killer.

But then I freeze for two seconds, blink the grog away, and the figure comes into focus.

"What are you doing?" I croak out. Liam startles but is quick to settle. I'm just me, and he's just him. Deep breaths. We're safe. For now.

"Couldn't sleep. How are you feeling?"

I resist a quip about wearing him out. It's strange enough to do that during all this. But I don't regret it. I never regret time spent with Liam.

But then I remember there's a killer in this house, and they know our secret. Piper knows, too. The stakes are life and death.

"I'm fine," I say, so as not to worry him, even though I'm feeling a bit queasy. Though perhaps that's because I've put together something no one else has. I found the discarded Oh, the Humanity! card deck under the couch. Fiddled with the cards absent-mindedly while the group turned on Piper and I willed myself somewhere, anywhere else.

Failing a drug test.

Sock-puppet bullying.

I'm in the prime of my life, baby.

The cards were far from random. The pattern was clear now:

Camille failed a drug test freshman year.

Alethea accused Eden of having a fake Insta account.

Declan's old TikTok catchphrase.

Then there was the final nail in the coffin. The card that set my heart racing during the game that night.

Screwing your boyfriend.

Alone, they are innocuous. But together? The deck was rigged. Someone knows all our secrets, and they're on this mountain, hunting us one by one.

The only person whose innocence I'm sure of is Delaney. If she were the killer, I'd already be dead.

"How are you not freezing?" I ask Liam. It's as if I will a shudder to run through me. Even with just my arms and face exposed, it's downright frigid. Liam shrugs it off.

"Thick blood, I guess." Liam retreats from the window and comes to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Pretty sure that's junk science, Mr. Premed."

A grin spreads across his features. "You know the strangest and most delightful things, Willa Hawley." Liam crawls up my body, suspends himself above me with impressive forearm and core strength. Then he deposits a chaste peck on my forehead and drops himself down beside me. I am a grateful little spoon as he nuzzles the nape of my neck and inhales my scent.

This is enough for me. That he doesn't snap at me for being a know-it-all like Delaney. That he doesn't patronize me over my size. That he's got my back right now, literally.

I trust him implicitly.

"What are we going to do?" I near whisper. I'm glad he can't see how scared I am. His arms clasp round my waist, and I hug him tighter to me.

"We have to find a way down the mountain. In the morning we'll assess the storm, and we'll figure it out."

I think about what Wyatt said. The snowmobile's limitations. I ask in a small voice, "Will you take me with you on the snowmobile?"

There's a moment of hesitation. My breath catches in my throat, and my eyes well with involuntary tears. Then Liam pecks me on the shoulder blade, nuzzles his nose into my hairline.

"I'm worried Wyatt may fight me for it. I could see him throwing more punches, taking the snowmobile for him and Camille."

Wyatt is a sore subject, but never with Liam. His voice aches with worry; I turn over so we're face to face, seek out his lips in the gray light.

"Then we'll leave before anyone else wakes up. We'll get the hell away from this place. Just you and me. Okay?" I search his features for reassurance, but Liam's normally expressive eyes are shrouded in shadows.

"I can't leave Delaney," he says finally. Pain, sour and sharp, slices through my rib cage, like a dagger to the heart.

"Oh" is all I can utter, but Liam gets the fullness of my feeling when I wrench away, breaking the circle of his arms at the small of my back. I shift onto cold sheets with a wince. A dull ache begins at my temple, and my stomach does a familiar sour flip. Great. More altitude sickness. Or maybe it's heartbreak.

"Come on, don't be like that," he says. "You know I care about her. You do too—you just won't admit it. You bring her up all the time. I see how much it hurts you that you're not friends anymore."

No, no—I hate this. The pact is broken, forcing me to confront buried feelings and the chaotic messiness of being here with Liam in the first place. I crumple in on myself, choke on my thoughts, and utterly fail to say anything coherent in response. Instead, I hum noncommittally under my breath. Hmm, sure, okay, whatever.

This is Liam Parker-Yang's superpower. Insightful and incisive and wholly unafraid to lay out the unvarnished truth of me. And he probably does this with Delaney as well, and she loves it as much as I do. The glorious magic of being seen byhim.

It makes me want to scream.

A wild howl catches my ears, and for a second I think it's me. But then Liam's eyes widen, alert, and he rockets out of bed and toward the door. We hear it again.

"That's Wyatt," Liam says. As he sprints into the hall, I scramble for my pajamas, lying in a pile on the floor. Normally my nakedness and the open door would horrify me, but something is going on. Liam is first on the scene, and I dress quickly to join him.

"Help! Help me! I'm locked in!" Wyatt bangs from the other side of the bunk-room door. The smell of wood and embers hits my nostrils, and my eyes sting from smoke.

"Is there a fire?" I call out.

"Yes, there's a fucking fire, Willa, and I'm locked in here!"

"Turn the lock from the inside," Liam shouts.

I hover my hand over the doorknob, sensing for heat. Just in case, I wrap my hand in my pajama shirt and wrench the handle, but the door remains stuck.

"You think I didn't try that?" Fear wars with frustration in Wyatt's voice. "It doesn't work. Do you see a key in the door?"

Liam checks, and shakes his head, though Wyatt can hardly see him now, can he? "No, nothing."

"Fuck, man, fuck! Smoke is filling the room and—" Wyatt cuts off into a series of hacking coughs.

"What's burning?" I ask, thinking about all the dramatic fire rescues I've seen on TV. Do you use a damp blanket? Pitcher ofwater?

"It's the fireplace," Wyatt croaks out. "It was freezing, so I lit it a few hours ago, but something's wrong. I woke up, and there's so much smoke—" He breaks off again in a cough. "I can't see, man. And I can't get out."

"Check the flue," I shout through the door. "It's probably shut."

"What the hell is a flue? What does it look like?"

"Uh, Camille pointed it out to Silva. I think it was a knob?" I offer unhelpfully.

Instead of the chastisement I expect, we hear only Wyatt's hacking coughs in response.

"Wyatt?" Liam pounds on the door. "Wyatt!"

The commotion has woken up the rest of the house. I hear Delaney and Camille thunder down the stairs before I see them.

"What the hell is going on?" Delaney demands. Then she sees the black smoke curling up from under Wyatt's door and recoils. "Oh my god, is there a fire?"

Camille joins Liam shouting through the door. "Run to the bathroom and get a damp towel to breathe through!" she instructs. "And try to open a window!"

Wyatt's reply comes after a three-second delay and is weak. "Okay…"

Then, a moment later: "The window won't open. It's j—" He breaks into a hacking cough. "Jammed," he finally finishes.

"Why hasn't he unlocked the door?" Delaney reaches for thedoorknob but jerks her hand back quickly when she senses the heat. She sprints over to the hall bath and comes back with a towel. Then she tries the knob but doesn't have any better luck than I did.

I didn't warn her. Would I have let Delaney burn her hand?

"I heard screaming." Piper bounces up the final step onto the landing with a ragged pant. Her flashlight beam sweeps over the door, and then our slack and terrified faces. She sucks down air before convulsing into a coughing fit from the smoke. We're all clearing our throats, rubbing our eyes.

Then the fire alarm goes off.

High-pitched and shrill, we instinctively throw our hands over our ears to blot out the sound.

"I thought the power was out!" Camille hollers over the shriek.

"Smoke detectors use batteries!" I shout while Liam fills everyone in.

"He's locked in. Did anyone see a key to this room?"

"What are you just standing here for!" Piper growls. "We need to break down the door! For fuck's sake!"

The obviousness of it is striking, but there's no time to think about the time lost.

"Liam, come on. With me." I shimmy sideways, bracing my right shoulder for impact. Liam lines up beside me and we share a readying look. "Wait!" Delaney flings her arms up to stop us. "Won't we get in trouble for breaking down the door?"

"Delaney!" Liam snaps, so I don't have to. "We can afford the fines. Jesus." He squares his shoulders, and I do the same. The smoke in the hall is so bad now, it makes my eyes burn. I squint them almost shut. Wet tears heat my cheeks. On Liam's mark, we charge, but the solid oak doesn't buckle.

"Again, again!" Liam yells, frantic.

We crash into the door with all our might. My shoulder, forearm, hip smart painfully. The door shudders but doesn't crack. I stumble back to make way for Camille, who takes my place with Liam. Again and again and again they thump against wood. Smoke starts seeping out the cracks until finally the door gives.

We fall into the room and instantly choke on thick, acrid smoke.

"Someone"—Delaney coughs—"open a window!"

Camille sprints into the main suite and does exactly that. Though all it does is send the smoke billowing in an additional direction.

"Shit!" Delaney cries out, then sprints headlong into the haze of the bunk room, toward the fireplace. Liam follows after her to search for Wyatt.

On instinct, I drop to the floor, desperately seeking clear air. Heat rises, right? It's barely better, but I take gulping breaths hunched over the carpet, regardless. That's when I see it.

A hulking shape, feet from my face, over the threshold of the bunk room. Wyatt, slumped forward and unmoving.

The fourth victim.