For readers who love slow-burn mystery, gothic atmosphere, and unreliable narrators The dead don't steal. They trade. Every Samhain, Isolde "Izzy" Vela leaves the same offerings on her family's graves: mezcal, rosemary, a cigarette, and a letter she never sends. She knows the rules-never ask for more than one secret, never read the book aloud, never check the graves at dawn-but this year, the dead are greedy. The offerings vanish before midnight. The Book of Given Names writes itself in her ancestors' handwriting, its pages filled with confessions that rewrite her memories. And the black marigolds on Luz's grave bloom only for those who don't know they're dead. When a skeptical journalist, Dante Morales, arrives to expose the town's "haunted" tourism scams, he catches Izzy pulling a locket from her sister's sealed casket. But the real fraud isn't the graves-it's the lie Izzy tells herself to keep breathing. Because the Collector is coming for the last piece of her: the name she buried herself under. Now, with the book's ink bleeding into her veins and the tide pools whispering in a language only she understands, Izzy must decide: Is she the girl who drowned, the ghost who got away, or the monster the dead made her? A haunting, lyrical tale of memory as currency, grief as a bargain, and the lies we tell to stay alive-even when we're not.