THE BUTTERFLY INCIDENT
CHAPTER 43 silent. Beverly’s knees were scraped. My hands were bleeding. The soil around us looked like it had opened its throat and told the truth. And still, we said nothing. Because what do you say when you find your own corpse under a tree? “I need to go,” Beverly whispered eventually. Her face was pale, her eyes shining with the kind of fear that gets stuck in the body. “We need to call someone—police, your mum—” “No.” My voice surprised both of us. Firm. Flat. It came from the version of me that had surfaced that day in the bathroom mirror—the one who no longer blinked at strange things. “You don’t get it,” I added. “If we tell anyone, if we bring them here, I’ll disappear again. Maybe worse.” She stared at me. “Jasmine… how are you here? If that’s you—how are you here?” I lo
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