Frankie saved Rachel, Ian, and Adam. By leaping in front of them and distracting the beast, he’d given me the extra seconds I needed to finish connecting the device to the power booster. That power booster amplified the sonic pulse I was able to aim at the Cursed One and ensured my control over the creature.

After the tragedy in Baalboden, I’m not willing to risk our lives by relying on unmodified Rowansmark tech again.

I’m nearly to the room I share with Rachel when a faint scratching sound from inside catches my attention.

In two strides I reach the door. Wrenching it open, I cross the threshold and stare. Jeremiah is hunched over my bedroll, his twisted, arthritic fingers digging through the outside pockets of my travel pack.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I close the door behind me and walk across the room.

He jerks his hands away from my pack and struggles to stand. “I was looking for the map. Thought I’d add some more detail to it, seeing as how we’re getting close to Lankenshire.”

“You told me you’d finished the Lankenshire portion of the map before we left Baalboden.”

“But what if Lankenshire turns us away? What if we need to go to Hodenswald or up to Brooksworth? I didn’t finish those parts yet.”

I stare at him in silence, my arms crossed over my chest. Maybe he was only looking for the map. Or maybe he was getting ready to leave me a note like the one I fished out of my tech bag in Baalboden.

“I’m sorry.” He yanks his hat from his head and twists it beneath his fingers. “I shouldn’t have been in here without your permission. I know that. I just didn’t know where you were, and my old knees can’t handle climbing up and down those stairs the way you young people can.”

I push past him and grab my pack. Flipping it open, I search the contents. Nothing seems to be missing. And there isn’t a cryptic note about debts to be paid either.

“I swear, I was just looking for the map,” he says.

Maybe he’s telling the truth. Maybe he isn’t. But considering our current circumstances, giving him the benefit of the doubt isn’t something I can afford to do.

“What else were you hoping to find?” My voice is calm, but my thoughts are racing. Now that I know he wasn’t leaving a note, I have to consider other options. My pack has spare clothing, tech supplies waiting to be built into working inventions, and an extra dagger. The only item in my possession worth stealing is the Rowansmark device, and I wear that at all times. Not that I’ve made that public knowledge. Most of my people were busy running into the forest and climbing trees to avoid the Cursed One while I was unstrapping the tech from my chest. For all Jeremiah knows, I keep the device in my travel pack.

Was Jeremiah one of the survivors who advocated returning the device to Rowansmark and asking for their protection? Would he steal the device himself and try to broker his own deal?

Or have the unsolved murders of our eight boys and our theory that the message points to Rowansmark made me so paranoid that I’m looking for problems where none exist?

“I wasn’t looking for anything else.” His voice is quiet. Sincere. His pale eyes hold mine without wavering.

I watch him for a long moment, but he doesn’t look away. Finally, I move past him, grab my cloak, and pull the map out of the inner pocket.

“Here,” I say as I thrust it at him.

“I’ll work on it some tonight,” he says, and pushes his hat back on his head. “And again, I’m sorry, Logan. I should’ve waited for you, or sent one of the young ones looking.”

I nod once, and he walks out of the room, the map curled inside his hands.

For his sake, I hope he was telling the truth. I’d hate for my first public punishment as leader of this group to be an execution.

Chapter Twenty-Three

LOGAN

With less than an hour until dark, I make my way to the long rectangle of a room at the end of the hall where Rachel is drilling our recruits on fighting techniques. Thick ivy clings to the windows. The sunlight that seeps past it is a sickly green-gold color that bathes the room in a verdant half-light. Rachel stands in the middle of the room, her sleeves rolled to her elbows, her Switch in hand, and her eyes locked on Ian’s. A scattering of others—Jodi, Elias, Keegan, Cassie, Eric, and Thom—lean against the walls, watching Rachel and Ian spar.

Ian lunges forward, his practice stick whistling through the air.

Rachel blocks him and swings the weighted end of her Switch into his thigh. I wince in sympathy. I’ve been on the receiving end of that move a few times. It took every ounce of pride I had to walk without limping afterward.

“You can cry if you need to,” Rachel says as she drives her elbow into his stomach and then whips around to swing the Switch at his head.

He dives under the blow and slams into her, knocking them both to the ground.

“You first,” he says as he tries to pin her to the floor by holding her arms down.

I sigh. This is going to get bloody, and Ian’s wearing his best tunic.

Rachel goes limp and drops the Switch. Ian relaxes his grip for a second, tossing a quick grin toward his audience, and Rachel attacks. Bringing her knees up, she plants her boots on his chest and sends him skidding onto his back. Flipping into a crouch, she lunges for him before he can get to his feet.

She’s got him. He’s on his back, out of position, and she’s dropping toward his chest. He’ll be lucky if he can breathe without pain for the next hour once she lands.