I should tell someone. I should do something. I should say something to someone I trust, but admittedly, I'm too scared. The journal, dark and tattered but still intact, rest on my lap as I sit in my car, too scared to put the keys into the ignition in fear of the car blowing up with me inside it. I've called Isaac and asked him to pick me up from the restaurant due to "car trouble;" I didn't mention the journal to him. He would only tell me that I should have listened to him about moving to Venetia. He would also tell me that this is certainly Garrett's doing—everything I already know being told to me over again. I don't open the journal again. I feel like I'm invading Sebastian's memories if I were to read it again; he's let go of the drama that's surrounded it. Now that it's back, all of its baggage comes with it. I should burn it. Bury it. Hide it somewhere. Part of me wants to