One of the men on the porch was dressed in a faded black suit, worn but still professional-looking. The younger of the two wore a pair of blue jeans, a white button-down and a blazer. Both had on sunglasses and serious expressions. They were still waiting for my response, and finally I moved to the side and gestured for them to come inside.

I looked out the door at the space the men had just vacated and saw Scarlett sitting across the courtyard on a bench. She was by herself now, magazine in hand, head tilted up toward the sun.

I bet she wouldn't even get any freckles from it, either.

The California blond slowly tilted down the shades that had been covering her eyes, making it clear that she'd seen what had just happened. The look she gave me was irritating. A cross between shock and judgment.

The whole company will have heard about this before the next class. Emmy had two guys over to her apartment. Can you believe it? The rumors themselves would be sordid and not at all accurate in their details.

Because whatever Scarlett came up with in that active imagination of hers, it wouldn't compare to reality.

Which was...

Closing the door, I joined the suits in my small living room. The place was darker now without the sunlight seeping in from the door. I turned on a lamp as I passed it and then walked over to the second-hand armchair across from the couch. The men still hadn't said anything since showing me their badges, and now remained standing until I was seated.

Gentlemen.

We sat there in silence, the guys not-so-subtly looking around my apartment like they were judging my decorating skills, and me feeling embarrassed by the fact that I hadn't given the room a good cleaning in days. I was about to apologize for the mess—which truthfully wasn't all that messy to begin with since I was kind of a neat-freak—when they both turned their attention back to me.

Or more accurately, what I was wearing.

Suddenly I remembered that I was practically naked, and I pulled the robe tighter across my flat chest before leaning my legs to one side to make sure I didn't flash them.

"I was about to take a bath," I mumbled, offering them an excuse, even though they hadn't asked. "Um, what is this about officers?"

Wasn't that what you were supposed to say when the police showed up on your doorstep unexpectedly?

As if on cue, the two took off their sunglasses, folding them up expertly and placing them in the pockets of their jackets. Had they rehearsed that? Spent hours practicing to make sure they hit every motion like a pair of synchronized swimmers? It was sort of bizarre, and I glanced around the room almost expecting a judge's panel to appear, holding up a row of perfect 10s for the performance.

But we were alone.

The older of the two cleared his throat and then leaned toward me until his eyes were level with mine. "I'm Special Agent Landon and this is Special Agent Walker," he said, his voice gruff. It matched his weather-blown skin and scruffy face. Everything about him was rough. Right down to his hands, which he kept firmly on his knees. "And we're with the FBI. Are your parents around? We'd like to ask you a few questions."

"My parents live a few hours away," I responded. Though their faces remained mostly expressionless, I swore I could see a flicker of surprise in the younger one's eyes. "Um, I'm emancipated. You can ask me whatever you want...but are you sure you have the right person?"

"You're exactly the person we need to talk to, Emmy," the guy who'd been introduced as Special Agent Walker chimed in.

Again, I couldn't fight the feeling that all of this had been meticulously rehearsed.

I searched Special Agent Walker's face to try and get a read for what they could possibly be here about. Upon second glance, I realized he was young. Probably only a few years older than Zhara. His dirty blond hair was on the longer side, but was slicked back and swept off to the side so it gave the illusion of professionalism. It didn't look greasy, like those guido guys or anything though. He looked put-together. Sophisticated.

He was staring at me now, his wide eyes fixed on mine curiously. They were light blue, and almost looked like they were about to pop out of his head. I could see how people would find him oddly attractive, like those models who had a quirk to their looks, making them stand out. He wasn't jarringly cute like Preston, I noted, but he wasn't exactly unpleasant to look at either.

I turned back to the other one and took a deep breath.

"Oooo-kay," I said slowly. "Um, what do you need to know?"

Almost as if he'd been expecting this, Agent Landon produced a brown, unmarked folder, and then took his time untying the twine that held it closed. When it was finally free, he pulled out a piece of paper and handed it over to me.

"Some of this might be a bit...alarming or difficult to talk about," Agent Walker said. I didn't look at the paper I had gripped in my hand. I had a feeling that once I did, I wouldn't be able to unsee its contents. "Are you sure you don't want someone here with you? It's alright if you do."

What could they possibly have to tell me that I'd need to bother Zhara or one of the teachers about? The sooner the agents said what they needed to say, the sooner I could get on with my bath.

I shook my head. "I'm fine," I insisted.

"Do you know that man?" Agent Landon cut in, barely waiting for me to finish my sentence.

Slightly annoyed by the rudeness in his voice, I looked down at the paper. It was glossy and held a photo of a man mid-stride. He had dark hair, wore black-rimmed glasses and was standing outside a building I didn't recognize. The jeans and nice jacket he had on were similar to the outfit that Agent Walker was wearing, only it didn't quite work for the guy in the picture. His jeans were just a little tighter than they should've been and the whole look seemed far too young for the middle-aged man.

Even though the photo wasn't a close-up, I still knew who it was.

"That's Kyle," I said, curious why they were asking about him.

"And how would you describe your relationship with Mr. Grafton?" Agent Landon asked evenly.

I handed him back the photo and settled into my chair uneasily.

"I wouldn't," I said flatly. The two gave me a confused look, so I continued. "We don't have a relationship. He comes to the gas station where I work every couple of weeks to fill up. He's tried to hang out a few times, but nothing's ever happened."

"Nothing's ever happened?" Agent Landon asked, raising his eyebrow at me.

"No," I said, surprised and sort of grossed out by what he was implying. "He's not exactly my type."

"And that is..." Agent Walker coaxed.

"Well it certainly isn't old guys," I responded, sarcastically "He's like, 40, and has a kid. It would be like hanging out with my dad. Like I said, not my type."

Agent Landon waited a few beats as he processed this information and then continued. "So you never spent time with Kyle Grafton outside of when he came by the gas station?"

I fidgeted.

"Why are you asking all these questions about Kyle?" I asked instead.

"Please just answer our questions, Miss Bryant," Agent Landon said with the sigh of someone who wasn't interested in answering a teenager's inquiries. Then, as if he realized he'd shown his hand, he took another approach. "It would really help us out."

Looking back in the direction of the bathroom, I found myself wishing I hadn't opened the door in the first place. Then I'd be soaking in the warmth of a tub full of Epson Salt, relaxing and thinking through the rest of my night's plans...

Agent Landon cleared his throat again, bringing me out of my daydream. I sighed wistfully.

"He came over here a few times," I said.

"You invited him over?" Agent Walker asked.

"No," I answered. "He sort of just...showed up."

"And what happened?" Agent Landon asked.

I thought back to that first time Kyle had been to my place. The surprise I'd felt to find him at my door.

"Nothing really," I said, shrugging. "I invited him in. We talked for a few minutes. Then I told him I had stuff to do and he left."

"That's it?" Agent Walker asked, sounding genuinely astonished.

"Yep. Pretty much."

"What did you two talk about?" Agent Landon asked.

I reached down to itch at one of the blisters on my foot. It was throbbing and I contemplated taking some Advil since it seemed like we would be there for a while.

But I stayed put.

"We mostly talked about his daughter. She's eight and he was always asking about things he could buy her. Stuff a girl her age might like. She lives with his ex-wife, so he doesn't get to spend a ton of time with her..."

I let the sentence trail off, because there wasn't really anything else to say. The truth was, I didn't really know Kyle Grafton well at all. He was someone I'd talked to a few times, but he didn't have a place in my life. If the agents weren't here asking me all these questions about him, chances were, I wouldn't have thought of him again unless I ran into him.

I had other things going on.

"You a dancer?" Agent Walker asked then, motioning over to the corner of the room where I'd installed floor-to-ceiling mirrors and a wooden barre that extended about four feet across. It was where I practiced when I wasn't in the studio.

"A ballerina," I said.

The agents shared a knowing look that I couldn't decipher, before turning back to me.

"What did Kyle do?" I asked finally, sick of playing this round-about game where I talked and didn't get any answers. "And what does it have to do with me?"

This time, Agent Landon didn't shoot me down right away, but only looked at me with pity in his eyes. It made me scared, though I wasn't sure why.

"Miss Bryant, we arrested Kyle Grafton a few days ago on suspicion of murder," he said, watching my reaction.

I almost laughed, literally out loud. Because this had to be a joke. People I knew didn't kill people. That sort of stuff happened in movies and on TV, not in real life.

Not in my life.

"You're joking, right?" I asked. When they didn't answer, the smile I wore began to fade. "It must've been an accident then."

"It wasn't an accident," Agent Walker said, shaking his head like he couldn't believe I wasn't getting what they were saying.

"We have reason to believe that Kyle Grafton murdered at least seventeen girls over the last two years," Agent Landon said, no longer sugar-coating things.

As he said it, it was like the wind had been knocked out of me. My body went cold and then numb, as I attempted to process what was happening here in my living room. Am I hallucinating? Hearing things? Had I passed out and this was some sort of nightmare I was stuck in?

None of it made any sense.

"Why are you telling me this?" I whispered, almost surprised when the words came out at all. "What do I have to do with any of this?"

This time it was Agent Walker who delivered the final blow.

"Because he wrote about you in his diary."