Chapter 1

The air inside the mausoleum of the Halloween attraction tasted like stale popcorn, damp wool, and the sharp, chemical tang of dry ice. It was a specific kind of cold that settled deep in the marrow, a cold that had nothing to do with the actual temperature and everything to do with the theatrical illusion of death. I stood near the entrance of the maze, the heavy paper lanterns flickering overhead, casting long, jagged shadows against the faux-brick walls. The sound was a low, rhythmic thrumming—the fog machines churning out their white, ghostly breath, mixing with the distant, tinny screams of tourists and the creaking of the wooden scaffolding that held up this temporary kingdom of fear. I had come to lose myself in the crowd, to let the chaos of the event swallow my thoughts for a few hours. But then I saw him. He was standing alone in a alcove near the back, away from the main thoroughfare where the lines snaked like intestines. He wasn’t looking at the props or the actors who jumped out from behind curtains. He was looking at me. Or rather, he was looking at the space where I was standing, his eyes