Libby stirred in her sleeping bag, the cold concrete of the garage floor seeping through the thin fabric. Her “bedroom” was a mess—old car parts, a flickering bulb, and a tattered “Raccoon Man” poster on the wall. She hated it here, hated the whole house, but most of all, she hated her mom, Ms. Allegra, with her shadowy glare and cryptic taunts. “YOU WILL NEVER GET YOUR ANSWER,” her mom’s voice echoed in her mind, fueling her rage. Today, Libby would get even. She smirked, a plan forming.