Then it was on, and Cassie gasped as she saw three things in quick succession. First, it was early March; months had passed since the events in the ballroom. Second, she had received a voice message from Izzy’s phone, in the days after Izzy had supposedly died. And third, for the past three months, someone had been sending Cassie text messages every few days, each message containing only a picture of a door, and every door different from the last.
