We’re only a few minutes from walking down the hall to the other classroom to give our speeches. Mr. Patricks is currently writing the numbers one, two, and three on scraps of paper to determine our speech order. As he drops the slips of paper into the bowl and walks up to Madison’s desk, I rip out my own piece of paper and scribble down a note for Logan. I found another rose. Logan reads the note, then glances up, his eyes wide and concerned. He scribbles something down and slides it back. Anything attached? He pushes it in front of me, studying my expression as I read it. Yeah. A photo of me. Like someone’s following me. And I found the rose AT MY HOUSE. I slide the note back, watching as Logan furrows his brow. He doesn’t seem to know what to say to this. I reach out, grab the paper, and scribble down, Do you think it was Daemon?
