LEXI

The train emerges from the darkness.

There are no crossing gates here, just a fence to keep people off the tracks. But I searched around and found a spot where I could get through.

I’m standing with the toes of my sneakers against the steel track. If I concentrate, I can feel the vibration in my body. The train is approaching.

I close my eyes and, for a moment, everything is sharp.

The cry of an owl somewhere nearby, the scent of the pine trees alongside the railroad tracks, the taste of tonight’s spaghetti still in my mouth. I can even follow the path my blood is taking through my body.

The vibration is getting stronger.

Less than thirty seconds to go.

Less than ten seconds.

I can see the driver, but can he see me too? It’s so dark here.

What if he doesn’t notice me?

Finally—­there’s the horn.

It’s so loud that it’s like someone is holding a megaphone next to my ear.

I take a big step back.

Less than five seconds later, I feel the blast of the train. It doesn’t push me away, but it sucks me in, as if the train is still going to devour me after all.

I tense all my muscles, bracing myself. One by one, the train cars thunder by, like a pounding headache.

I don’t open my eyes again until the last car has gone by.

The train’s red taillights are swiftly disappearing into the distance.

I laugh. I can’t help myself. Out loud, as if someone just told a really good joke.

I felt that.

I felt all of it.

With a sigh of relief, I turn and walk back to the fence.

When I’ve squeezed back through the gap, I carefully put the wire back in place.

I climb up to the overpass, where my bike is leaning against a lamppost. And that’s when I notice someone standing beside it.

Startled, I still. What’s going on? There’s never anyone else here—­that’s exactly why I chose this spot.

What if they saw me and called the police? Then I’m probably going to get a load of questions. They’ll have the completely wrong idea.

But the woman by my bike doesn’t appear to have seen me. She’s taking something out of her pocket and leaning over my handlebars.

“Hey!” I yell. “What are you doing?”

The woman looks up, startled, but then her bright red lips form a small smile, as if she recognizes me.

Who is she? I’m sure I’ve never seen her before.

Before I can react, she runs off, her high heels tapping along the overpass.

For a moment, I think about going after her, and then I notice something sticking out of my bell. It’s a white busi­ness card.

I take the card and look up. The woman has already reached the other end of the overpass. She gets into a car and drives away.

On one side of the card, there’s a telephone number, and on the other side, written in bloodred letters, it says: TIME FOR A LITTLE ESCAPE?

I look in the direction the woman went. Does she think I want to buy drugs? Because this has to be some kind of direct line to a dealer. What else could it be?

She couldn’t have chosen a worse candidate. Ever since Tess’s diagnosis, I’ve hated pills of every kind.

I take my phone from my pocket and key in the number. It rings three times and then someone picks up.

“Hello?” says a stranger’s voice.

“You left your business card,” I say. “I’m not a junkie. Okay? And I don’t know what you think you just saw, but I wasn’t trying to kill myself.”

For a moment I think about Kelly. She must have been so scared.

“I’m not desperate. So leave me alone.”

“Say your name.”

Huh? My name?

“Lexi,” I say hesitantly.

“Hello, Lexi. Who’s your best friend?”

The voice sounds strange, nothing like a woman’s voice. But not like a man’s voice either. More like a robot, as if I’m talking to a computer.

“My best friend?”

I pause, maybe because so much has changed between Tess and me. Since Kelly’s death, our friendship has been on shaky ground, like it could collapse at any moment.

But I still know there’s only one answer to this ­question.

“My best friend’s name is Tess,” I say, clearly picturing my cousin. Her green eyes, which suddenly seemed as dark as night after Kelly’s suicide. Tess’s eyes were like ringing crossing gates, warning that the Shadow was coming.

Why didn’t I see it?

But I thought Tess was mourning the girl who lived next door.

My aunt thought the same. We didn’t see the Shadow until it was almost too late.

“Lexi and Tess. You will be expected at Escape Room 2.0 on Saturday, March thirteenth, at two p.m. The address is two-­sixty-­two Industry Road. Wishing you a pleasant escape!”

And the line goes dead.

BEAU

“So you’re telling me some complete stranger spoke to you on Thursday after the concert? And she gave you a business card?”

Zora and I are cycling to Industry Road. There’s a strong wind, and I’m struggling to keep up with her.

I nod. “You’ve asked me that three times now. Red just suddenly turned up behind Club 7.”

The alley behind the concert hall was the only place where I could catch my breath. There were no fans there, and Benji didn’t know where to look for me.

But then that woman suddenly showed up. In my mind, she’s called Red, because she was dressed head to toe in that color.

“But that’s really bizarre, isn’t it?” Zora glances across at me. “What else did this Red say to you?”

“Not much. She just said it was a special kind of escape room.”

“And you have no idea who she is?” Zora doesn’t seem to be bothered by the wind. She’s pedaling away like it’s no effort at all.

“No,” I say. “Not a clue.”

“It’s not some deranged fan, is it?”

I shake my head. “She didn’t look the type.”

I picture Red, with her lipstick and those red high heels. At first, I thought she was a scout from a modeling agency, but then she started talking about the escape room. She said it was completely different than other escape rooms. This is Escape Room 2.0, and it’s “no ordinary escape room,” whatever that’s supposed to mean.

“I can’t believe Benji just let you leave today.” Zora stands up on her pedals. “Your studio time is sacred.”

“I’m going into the studio tomorrow.”

I think about the phone conversation I just had. I was surprised that Benji agreed to my time off too, but then he told me the big news.

Los Angeles.

LA wants me.

My armpits start sweating. My family is going to flip when they hear about this.

Grandpa always said that one day I’d play New York’s Madison Square Garden, one of the most famous venues in the world.

When we visited him there last year, he bought basketball tickets, and we sat way up at the very top.