"Hello. This is Willow."
"Willow, this is Buffy. Is—"
"Oh, hi Buffy. What’s going on? Did you find something, or is this just, you know, social. Because—"
"Will! Is there a party at Phi Kap tonight?"
"Is it a day between Wednesday and Monday?"
"Right. Dumb question. Will, I’ve figured out what’s going on, and I promise I’ll explain later, but I have to go now. I have to stop it."
"Wait, Buffy. Just give me a minute to get some stuff and I’ll help—"
*Click*
Willow stared at the dial-toning phone.
"—you."
*
Open. The grave had been open. And empty. Not a grave-robbing or exhumation with shovels or backhoes, but the familiar hand-dug burrow.
Buffy had told Riley that her idea about Darren’s hired assassin was a hunch before she’d called it a hypothesis. Now she realized it was neither. It had been a conclusion she’d jumped to, based on one connection and her hatred of Darren Edwards.
But upon seeing that empty grave, she’d remembered that there were other people who hated Darren Edwards, some even more than she did. And she knew what had been happening.
Then came the hunch. And a hunch was nothing so weak as a hypothesis or a guess or a jumped conclusion. Perhaps it was even a prophecy, like her dreams. But whatever it was, she knew what was happening. And where. And she knew that it was happening *right now*, and that she needed to stop it.
Buffy hung up the phone and started to run.
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