“You’ve been buried alive in a glass coffin.” Those words came from my right. I turned. It was dark in the hole, but I could just barely make out the features of the girl next to me. She looked like Sloane—but I knew, deep in the pit of my stomach, that she wasn’t. “There’s a sleeping cobra on your chest,” the girl wearing Sloane’s body said. “What do you do?” Scarlett. Scarlett Hawkins. “What do you do?” she asked again. Dirt hit me in the face. I looked up, but all I saw this time was the glint of a shovel. “You’ve been buried alive,” Scarlett whispered. “What do you do?” The dirt was coming
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