8

H is whole life, people told Miles he was too sensitive, lingered on things too long and let them eat away at him. That he needed to grow a thicker skin, learn to shake it off.

The truth was, though, Miles wasn't even hurt by what Gabriel had said. He just regretted what had come out of his own mouth, that he'd allowed Gabriel to make him so furious. It didn't sit well in him.

Sure, it sucked to have nasty things said by someone who considered himself better than Miles on every level, but Gabriel didn't know a thing about him. If he did, he would've chosen more fitting insults. Debilitatingly awkward. A friendless weirdo. A constant inconvenience. A massive pushover.

The single point he could give Gabriel was having a faulty gift. His premonitions—the fact they were supposedly impossible aside—weren't giving him much to go on. So, yeah, maybe they were faulty, but Miles was going to choose to believe he was getting them for a reason. That they were faulty with a purpose.

With Gabriel so clearly in denial, Miles had to be the rational one. And being rational meant coming to terms with a few things:

He'd gone to the party and out of all the people there, he'd run into Gabriel.

He'd decided he was done with Gabriel, only for him to show up at his school a week later.

He'd told Gabriel about his premonition so they could go their separate ways, then got a new, more detailed vision minutes after.

He couldn't ignore the fact that they were being pulled together. Connected through these premonitions, and Miles was supposed to do something about it. A force in the universe must believe in him, even if Gabriel didn't.

It was a simultaneously comforting and terrifying thought.

It helped Miles muster up a newfound sense of determination. He was going to figure out what the premonitions meant and save Gabriel's life, if solely for the chance to prove him wrong and rub his stupid smug face in it.

And, you know, because it was the right thing to do.

Plus, saving the life of someone as rotten and awful as Gabriel meant he'd have good karma for like, eternity.

***

When Miles got home from school, the first thing he did was scrape together his courage and go to his aunt Robin's bedroom. He hovered outside her door, listening carefully. It was thankfully silent. Music would have been a bad sign—she put it on to cover the sounds of her crying.

As a seer, she was the best qualified to answer his questions about premonitions. As his reclusive aunt who never left her room, she was unlikely to tell his parents he'd asked.

He knocked. "It's open," a soft voice said.

It took a second for Miles's vision to adjust to the gloom, the curtains tightly drawn over the windows. Aunt Robin's room was always neat and smelled of fresh incense. Aunt Robin herself—sitting in an armchair by the window despite the fact she'd hidden the view—always gave him pause at how put-together she appeared.

Every morning she woke up, got dressed, and put herself together, attempting to hide her grief beneath a silky shirt and makeup. But Miles could see the cracks in her carefully crafted facade—the glazed sheen in her eyes, the lines that mourning had carved into her features, the wedding band on a chain around her neck.

"Do you have a minute?" Miles asked. He was always irrationally afraid to come in. Sometimes, it felt like Robin's sadness was a physical thing in the room with them, and that he'd unintentionally bring it out with him into the real world.

"Of course." She gestured to the chair on the other side of the window, only a small table separating them. "I'm sorry I missed dinner last night, time got away from me."

"It's fine, you can come tonight if you want. Mom's making lasagna."

They always did this, a carefully rehearsed script. She'd apologize as if she'd missed a single dinner, not months of them, and Miles would act as if there was a chance she'd make it to the next one.

She never did.

"I didn't want to bother you. I just had a couple of questions I thought you'd be able to answer. About premonitions."

He shouldn't have been so concerned about talking to her. She didn't question why he, an empath, would be asking these things. She even tried to look interested.

"I was wondering—I mean, I guess I don't understand how they work in the first place, what brings them on. Can you tell me anything about that?"

"From what I know, every seer has a different experience with premonitions. Some will tell you an emotional connection triggers them. Some say it's as random as bumping into a stranger on the street. Others think it's a mix of chance and intention."

"And in your experience?" he prompted.

"In my experience"—her focus drifted towards the covered window "—it doesn't matter. They're rarely much help. By the time you understand what they're trying to tell you, it's too late. That's what being a seer is… knowing tragedy is coming and being helpless to stop it." She reached up, gripping the ring that hung around her neck.

A sour taste rose in Miles's throat, even though he'd known what she would say, how she'd come to despise her gift after Uncle Shaun's death.

Charlee might be right. Gabriel couldn't be helped.

"But what's the point of seeing the future if you can't do anything about it?"

The second it left his mouth, Miles wished he could take it back. Robin probably asked herself that every day.

But she didn't seem bothered. "The reason behind a seer's vision is a mystery many have tried and failed to solve. We're helpless messengers, witnesses to the cruelty of fate." Her shoulders tensed. "Perhaps, we're all being punished. Like Sisyphus, condemned to an endless, pointless struggle while the gods laugh."

Miles didn't know what Sisyphus was, but he was pretty sure he got the point.

"Is there anything you can do to bring premonitions on? Or make them clearer?"

"If there is, I never learned it."

"Can you tell me anything about the Hawthornes?"

That got her attention in a way his previous questions hadn't. "Why do you want to know about them?"

He couldn't tell her about Gabriel. "I went to the Hawthorne party the other night and met Felicity."

"Ah." This was the only explanation his aunt needed. "Her energy is intense, isn't it?"

That was a nice way of putting it. "She scared me a bit," Miles confessed.

"That's because you're smart. That whole family's dangerous, but especially Felicity."

Miles tried to hide his surprise. Disliking the Hawthornes was one thing but calling them dangerous seemed a little extreme. "Really? How so?"

Miles was sure she was going to tell him to mind his own business, to ask his parents if he wanted to know. But she said, "Gifts, powers, curses—whatever you believe we have, we need to respect them. Lines that are there for a reason, boundaries that can't be crossed, no matter how tempting. But the Hawthornes only care about what they can take. What they can control. And when it comes to that, the limits are the price you're willing to pay."

One of the earliest things Miles had learned about his abilities was that there were rules—a cost to every spell, every charm. To use that which was natural and pure, to respect the balance between nature and their gifts. That searching beyond was forbidden. Dangerous.

His parents always told him and his sisters the same cautionary tale: the last gifted person who'd made that mistake was shunned by the other families, before the universe came to collect in a deadly way. Upset the balance and it would always correct itself. Miles hadn't ever pondered it much—his family had everything they needed to get their jobs done.

Perhaps the Hawthornes hadn't felt the same. "What did they do?" He was almost afraid even to ask.

"Depends on which rumor you believe. But we all know one thing: unnatural gifts like theirs don't come without a hefty price tag."

Unnatural gifts . What did that even mean? Felicity was a medium, everyone knew that, heard stories about her famous clients. What was so strange about that?

More questions jumbled on Miles's tongue, but Robin's expression shifted, like she realized she'd said more than she should. Like she was trying to recall if Miles was supposed to be in the loop.

It was time to retreat.

"Thanks for answering my questions." He wasn't sure if he'd learned anything useful, but at least someone in his family had bothered to be honest. "Maybe I'll see you at dinner."

His answer was an unconvincing nod as Robin turned away.

On the way out, Miles caught a flash of red and steps racing up the stairs. A second later, a door slammed closed.

Miles checked over his shoulder, but Aunt Robin hadn't moved, not aware or not caring that her daughter had been listening feet away.

***

Charlee didn't bother telling Miles to go away when he slipped inside her room, just glowered at him with her arms crossed tightly over her chest. It seemed wrong for her to be so livid while wearing a baby pink sweater.

"Why were you talking to her about the Hawthornes?"

This wasn't going to be pretty.

Miles mirrored her pose, wishing he was half as intimidating. "Gabriel showed up at school today. I've decided I'm going to help him."

The look of betrayal she sent his way made him want to duck for cover. "Tell me you're joking."

"I can't."

"Did he threaten you?"

She was so far off base, Miles couldn't help but snort. "No. Trust me, he doesn't want anything to do with me."

"Then why help him after everything we talked about?"

Voice lowered, he told her about their conversation, how touching Gabriel had triggered another vision with more clues, and that he'd decided to stop denying he had a role to play. He refused to be a spectator when another person's life was on the line, no matter how pointless Aunt Robin said it was.

Charlee threw herself onto her bed in frustration. "I can't believe you. You went and got invested. Damn it, Miles, you just couldn't stay out of it like I told you to."

"What do you expect? I can't be heartless about this. Gabriel's still a person. And you didn't see him—he's scared."

Miles couldn't stop thinking about it. How hard Gabriel had tried to hide his fear. How defeated he looked hunched over the bathroom sink. The way his hands had trembled slightly before he'd tucked them into his pockets.

"He's going to die , unless I do something about it. Don't you get how impossible it is to ignore that?"

Charlee bit her lip and glanced away.

Miles softened slightly. She was coming from a place of love. "I need you on my side right now." He sat next to her, suddenly exhausted. "Gabriel doesn't want anything to do with me, my parents won't talk to me, your mom is telling me the whole thing is hopeless, but I know this is the right thing. I can't explain it, I just know."

"I've always got your back. But sometimes that means fighting you when you're making the wrong decision. I don't see how this doesn't end badly and I don't want you to get hurt."

He understood, he truly did, especially after everything her mom had put her through. "Let's say Gabriel still dies. The premonitions come true, no matter what I do. That's not going to be easy, but you know what would make it a thousand times worse?" He nudged her knee. "Knowing I didn't even try. That I walked away to protect myself. I couldn't live with that."

Her silence was loaded—but when the tension in her shoulders relaxed, he knew they were okay. "I hope you know I despise you for being such a good person."

That cracked him up, his laughter breathless with relief.

"But," she continued, "I think I'm grooving on this whole new confidence thing. It's a good look for you."

He snorted. "Don't get used to it. I'm riding it as far as it'll take me, but I'm pretty sure I already see a breakdown looming in the distance."

"I'm here for you when it hits." She reclined against her pillows with a sigh, kicking her feet up onto the bed. "So, what's your grand plan, then?"

Yeah, it would be a good idea to get one of those. "Still working on it," he admitted. "Your mom didn't give me much to go on and I don't know about Gabriel. Even if he's at school tomorrow, he thinks I'm a big liar, so getting his help is probably off the table."

"He really didn't believe you?"

"He's freaked out. I mean, who wouldn't be? Once he calms down, he'll hopefully realize I don't have a reason to lie."

It was about the only thing Miles could hope for right now. His new vision might contain clues, but without Gabriel to give them context, figuring them out would be nearly impossible.

"What can I do to help?" Charlee asked.

He was so glad she'd asked. "Wanna join me in some snooping? It'll mean certain death if my mom catches us."

Interest sparked in her hazel eyes. "It's a good thing she left to drop off deliveries an hour ago, then."

Perfect. Miles checked the retro flower clock on her bedside table, one of her proudest yard sale finds. His dad would be sleeping for a while still, too. On nights he had a job, he slept during the day and rolled out of bed in time for dinner before hustling back out the door.

"Did she say when she'd be home?"

"Nope."

They'd have to hurry, then, just in case.

Charlee followed him downstairs to his parents' office. It had once been their dining room before gradually filling with bookcases, a desk for each of Miles's parents, and a downsized table that was constantly covered in papers, crystals, and herbs.

"Let's start with my dad's desk," Miles whispered, wishing he had a door to close. If his mom came home, there'd be nowhere to hide.

He opened the top drawer, filled to the brim with notebooks, loose pens, and a jar of miscellaneous charms. A bottle of grave dirt was shoved in the very back, the cork a millimeter away from popping free.

"What exactly are we looking for?" Charlee asked, grabbing the nearest notebook to flip through.

"Anything to do with the Hawthornes. My parents won't tell me what their problem is with Felicity, but it's way more than some old family feud. It's personal. And I have this weird feeling… I dunno, maybe it's connected to my visions."

The next drawer housed files for the jobs his dad had taken, along with delivery and order receipts. Behind them, an unmarked manilla folder caught Miles's eye. It was the sole thing in the drawers not labeled.

Charlee leaned in as he plopped it down on his dad's closed laptop.

The first paper inside it was a printout of the Warren family tree, a larger copy framed on the wall above them. Miles's, his sisters', and Charlee's names had been added in black ink, the scratchy, nearly illegible handwriting recognizable as his dad's.

Underneath the family tree was a stack of official documents, things about their house from over the years. Contracts, work orders, with faded black-and-white photographs of buildings paperclipped to them. One grabbed his attention—unlike all the others, it had people in it. Posing by the front door, a smiling man and woman held a toddler in a frilly dress and bonnet, a young, round-faced boy in glasses beside them. On the back, in cursive, it read: Walter, Margaret, Harry, and Rosalie. 197, Warren home, Thistle, Washington .

"Ugh." Charlee shuddered. "Old pictures always give me the heebies."

For good reason. Miles didn't have enough fingers to count the number of times his family had investigated a haunting, only to find some antique portrait or photograph was the culprit.

He set them aside carefully, moving onto the next stack of papers—mostly marriage contracts and more old photographs. He recognized his grandma Eileen by her voluminous mass of blonde hair and dimpled smile. Behind those were birth certificates, baby pictures, even an envelope containing a lock of white-blonde hair.

Charlee peered into the envelope. "Hard nope. Who even keeps something that nasty?"

"Apparently"—Miles squinted at the writing on the other side—"Great Aunt Judith."

"Sounds like a weirdo."

There was nothing else in the folder except more photographs, the colors becoming brighter as Miles flipped through. This had been a bust, nothing but—

"Oh my God." Charlee jabbed her finger at a picture. "That's your dad. You two are practically identical."

Miles studied the picture. He didn't know about identical . And he'd never be caught dead wearing his shirt tucked into his jeans.

It was weird to see a picture of his dad so young. He had to be about Miles's age, and he looked so… goofy. A huge grin dimpled his cheeks; he had poofy hair and a skateboard tucked under his elbow, other arm around a raven-haired girl with a sullen expression.

"That's not your mom," Charlee teased. "Your dad was a player."

Miles ignored her. The girl was familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on why.

He flipped over the picture and gasped.

Adam and Felicity, summer of '95.

"What the hell?" He shoved the picture at Charlee. "That's Felicity Hawthorne!"

"No way." She scanned the label, then flipped the picture back over, squinting at it. "Are they… together?"

"That's impossible. Our families have hated each other forever. They can't—he wouldn't—"

But they were obviously something .

Charlee hesitated. "You never know… what if it was like, a forbidden fruit thing."

"Shut up."

"I'm just saying."

"Well, stop saying."

He couldn't picture it. Felicity was so severe.

"That would explain why your mom and Felicity were clawing each other's eyes out," Charlee suggested. "A petty jealousy thing."

It certainly appeared that way. Which didn't help Miles at all with figuring out his connection to Gabriel.

He felt betrayed. He'd looked his parents dead in the eye and asked them about Felicity, and they hadn't said a thing. How hard was it to admit you'd known someone when you were a teenager, or had an embarrassing ex you really regretted?

And to think he'd been so guilty for even talking to Gabriel at the party.

"I will say," Charlee mused, "when I touched the photo, I didn't pick up on anything romantic. Sadness. Regret. Maybe—"

Outside, a car door slammed. Charlee jumped to her feet and bolted to the window, peering through a crack in the curtain. "It's your mom," she hissed.

Shit .

Miles scrambled to shove everything back in the folder, praying his dad wouldn't notice the mess. He jammed it behind the files as Charlee threw in the notebooks she'd been reading, slamming both the drawers shut and narrowly missing his fingers.

"C'mon, move it," she growled, yanking him to his feet and all but shoving him out of the office.

They stumbled into the living room, Miles nearly tripping over the coffee table as the front door opened.

"Oh, hey," his mom said, surprised. She gave them a questioning look, taking off her coat. "What're you two up to?"

"Came down for a snack," Charlee lied easily.

Miles nodded, scared that if he opened his mouth, he'd do something stupid like start asking about his dad and Felicity. Charlee's grip on his arm tightened as if she could sense it.

His mom brushed past them towards the kitchen. "I'm going to start dinner soon, so don't eat anything big."

As soon as she was out of earshot, Charlee lowered her voice. "We take this to the grave, okay? If you go down, I'm going with you, and I enjoy being alive."

"But—"

"No buts! I'll help you figure out how to save Gabriel, but bringing up your parents' past love lives is where I draw the line. Your mom will literally murder us."

He didn't have a good argument against that.

What he did have were more questions than answers, and the terrible feeling that there was a giant clock ticking down over his head.