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us, I knew it was the last. “We know Eva’s still there,” he said. “And we can teach her how to move again.”
    Addie stiffened. I trembled, a ghost quivering in her own skin. Our body didn’t move at all.
    “Do you want to know how?” the boy said.
    “Now you’re scaring her, Devon,” Lissa said. Devon. Right, her brother’s name was Devon. But I was sure she’d used a different name a few minutes before.
    “That’s illegal,” Addie said. “You can’t. They’ll come; if they find out—”
    “They won’t find out,” Devon said.
    The public service announcements . The videos we watched every year on Independence Day, depicting the chaos that had swept across Europe and Asia. The president’s speeches. All those museum trips.
    “I have to go,” Addie said. She stood so suddenly, Lissa remained crouching, only her eyes moving up with us.
    “I have to go,” Addie repeated.
    
    She shook our head. “I have to leave.”
    “Wait.” Lissa jumped to her feet.
    Our hands flew up, palms outward, warding her off. “Bye, Hally—Lissa— Hally . I’m sorry, but I’m going home now, okay? I have to go home.” She backed up, stumbling all the way to the end of the hall. Lissa started forward, but Devon grabbed her shoulder.
    “Devon—” Lissa said.
    He shook his head and turned to us. “Don’t tell anyone.” His eyebrows lowered. “Promise it. Swear it.”
    Our throat was dry.
    “ Swear it ,” Devon said.
     I said.
    But Addie just swallowed and nodded.
    “I promise,” she whispered. She twisted around and darted down the stairs.
    She ran the whole way home.
     
    “Addie? Is that you?” Mom called when we opened the front door. Addie didn’t reply, and after a moment, Mom stuck her head out from the kitchen. “I thought you were eating at a friend’s house?”
    Addie shrugged. She cleaned our shoes on the welcome mat, the rhythm of the action grinding the bristles flat.
    “Is something wrong?” Mom said, wiping her hands on a dish towel as she walked over.
    “No,” Addie said. “Nothing. Why aren’t you and Lyle at the hospital yet?”
    Lyle wandered in from the kitchen, too, and we automatically looked him over, checking his skinny arms and legs for bruising. We were always terrified each bruise would develop into something worse. That was the way it always seemed to be with Lyle—food poisoning that had developed into kidney trouble, which had resulted in kidney failure. He was pale, as always, but otherwise seemed okay.
    “It’s not even five yet, Addie,” he said, throwing himself on the floor and pulling on his shoes. “We were watching TV. Did you see the news?” He looked up, his face a mix of anxiety and excitement, eagerness and fear. “The museum caught on fire! And flooded, too! They said everybody could have gotten all electrocuted, like zzzzz —” He tensed and jerked back and forth, miming the throes of someone being zapped by electricity. Addie flinched. “They said hybrids did it. Only they haven’t caught them yet—”
    “Lyle.” Mom gave him a look. “Don’t be morbid.”
    We’d gone all cold.
    “What’s morbid mean?” Lyle said.
    Mom looked like she was about to explain, but then she caught sight of our face. “Addie, are you all right?” She frowned. “What happened to your shirt?”
    “I’m fine,” Addie said, fending off her touch. “I—I just realized I’ve got a lot of homework tonight.” She avoided the second question altogether. We’d been so worried about our shirt before. Now it hardly seemed to matter.
    Hybrids? Hybrids were responsible for the destruction at the museum?
    Mom raised an eyebrow. “On a Friday?”
    “Yeah,” Addie said. She didn’t seem to realize what she was saying. We both looked at Mom, but I didn’t think Addie saw a thing. “I—I’m going to go upstairs now.”
    “There are leftovers in the fridge,” Mom called after us. “Dad will be home