The ground is still damp from the day’s rain, and the musky scent of dirt, bark, and growing things envelopes me. I move south, breathing deeply and listening to the soft hoot of an owl and the high-pitched whirring of the cicadas that cling to the branches above me. Slowly, my thoughts settle into something logical and coherent.

I don’t know why the Cursed One came after us today, but I can’t attribute significance to it where none exists. The booster pack I built for the Rowansmark tech did its job. I have to be satisfied with that.

I can’t convince Adam to let go of his grief and his anger when I understand the reasons behind them. I can only hope to show him that I have his best interest at heart. If he settles into my leadership, we won’t have a problem. If he doesn’t, I’ll have to figure out an effective consequence that will demonstrate I mean business, but that won’t alienate him further.

As for the final problem—I can’t finish the invention I’m building to track the Commander, and I can’t replicate the Rowansmark tech, without more supplies. I have to hope Lankenshire either has what I need or knows a way to get it.

Feeling settled and ready for sleep, I hurry through the forest and reach the edge of the tree line just before the guards are scheduled to change shifts. As I approach the camp, I see Donny, his cowlick glowing in the moonlight, slumped against the tree limb again.

I don’t bother suppressing my sigh this time. Clearly, he’s too young for nighttime guard duty. I don’t know who will take his place, but I’ll find someone. I can’t risk the camp, and I can’t risk Donny. If it comes down to it, I’d rather take the extra guard duty myself.

I reach Donny and squat in front of him. His knife is out, the blade facing me as he clutches it in his hand. Half the battle won. Now if we can just find a way to keep him alert, he might make a decent guard after all.

The slight smile spreading across my face dies as a pungent, coppery scent fills my nose.

“Donny?” I reach out and grasp his shoulder. “Wake up.”

He remains still. Dread pools in my stomach.

“Donny!” I shake him and watch in horror as his head tips back, revealing the thick crimson slice across the base of his neck.

Chapter Nineteen

RACHEL

“Rachel, wake up!”

My eyes snap open, and I reach for my knife even as I recognize Quinn’s voice. The dregs of another blood-filled dream cling to me as I roll over and realize Logan isn’t beside me.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, pushing myself off my bedroll and reaching for my cloak. “Where’s Logan?”

“He’s at the east edge of camp. Someone murdered the guards.” His expression is stoic, but I’m learning to listen for the things he refuses to show, and I hear the horror in his words.

I stare at him for a second, and then I move. “What about the people within the camp? Are we surrounded? Is it Carrington?”

“Everyone else seems to be fine. No one’s in the Wasteland close to camp. And I don’t know if it’s Carrington,” he says as he follows me out of my tent. “Would the Commander quietly kill the guards and then pull back?”

I sidestep a bundle of supplies. “No. He’d attack with every soldier at his disposal.” The wind tugs at my hair, and I yank the strands out of my face. “Highwaymen wouldn’t do this either. They’d kill the guards, loot the camp, take some female prisoners, and then run into the Wasteland again. Are we sure no one—”

“No one is missing. No shelters look disturbed. Thom and I looked inside each of them.”

I shake my head and lengthen my stride, my knife held steady in my hands. Let whoever killed our guards come for me next. I’ll be ready.

We reach the east edge of camp a moment later. The metallic sweetness of drying blood blankets the air and creeps across my tongue. For one terrible moment, my nightmares blend with my waking life until I can barely tell the difference. I cup my hands around my mouth and nose before the smell makes me gag. Or worse, scream.

Logan has enough to worry about without adding me to his list.

He looks up as I approach. A single torch, staked to the ground beside the bodies, burns brightly, washing Logan’s face in orange and gold. His lips are tight, his eyes hollowed out. I reach for him as he stands.

He leans into me as I wrap my arm around him.

“Someone murdered the boys I’d asked to stand guard.” His voice is weary. “Just walked right up to them and slit their throats.” He chokes on the last word and scrubs a hand over his eyes.

“I know.” My words are gentle, at odds with the pounding of my heart. “It must be an enemy camped in the Wasteland. Someone . . .” Who? Who would benefit from killing our guards and leaving the rest of us alone?

“The Wasteland is empty,” he says, and Quinn nods.

“How do you know?” I make the mistake of looking down and seeing a bloody smile carved into each boy’s neck. My knees shake, and a strange buzzing fills my ears as I remember Oliver’s blood pouring over my hands while I sat in silent impotence.

“Rachel?” Logan asks, pulling me away from the bodies. “Are you okay?”

It’s just blood. Not Oliver. Not someone I had the chance to save. I swallow hard and force myself to look Logan in the eye. “I’m fine. Now, how do you know someone isn’t surrounding the camp while we stand here talking?”

“Because Quinn and I walked around the entire perimeter. We went fifty yards into the Wasteland. It’s empty.”