Nate is beside my door, opening it. “Are you okay?”

“I will be.” I turn and climb out of Reid’s car.

“Don’t touch Eva, Bouchet,” Reid calls back to us. “She’s mine. I explained everything. We’re going to get Grace and go.”

Nate looks at me and raises both brows, but he says nothing. He doesn’t need to: we both know that I’m not going anywhere else with Reid. He brought me to Grace. That was what I needed. Now that we’re here, I’m staying with her and Nate.

“Maybe we can lock him in there,” I whisper. I want a solution that doesn’t include another death. “We get Grace, lock him in, and wait for the police.”

“It’s worth a try,” Nate agrees.

I still think we might be okay—until Reid opens the door. That’s when everything falls apart. He lets out a howl of pain. Grace is there. I can see her swinging a lantern at Reid.

“Run, Eva!” she yells.

Nate runs toward the door to help Grace.

Reid ducks and grabs a chain that is hanging from around her throat. He yanks, and she stumbles. She’s trying to dig her heels in to stop him from dragging her to him.

I stare in shock. For a moment, I’m too stunned to react. Grace was chained up.

“Asshole,” Grace yells at him. She grabs the chain—which Reid is still using to jerk her toward him—and yanks back, but even in her anger, she’s not stronger than him.

Nate leaps on Reid, knocking him to his knees, and Reid releases the end of the chain that’s attached to some sort of collar around Grace’s throat. She crab-crawls backward and struggles to her feet.

I’m trying to reach her, but I’m on one crutch and holding a gun in my hand. I move far too slowly, and even if I can reach her, my only way to help is to shoot Reid. I don’t want to do that. I keep thinking of my vision of his death. It’s almost like it’s superimposed on the world around me.

Just as Grace is passing Reid, he shoves away from Nate and grabs her again.

Nate takes another swing, knocking Reid into Grace accidentally, and they all tumble together on the ground in a mess of legs, arms, and chain.

Both Grace and Nate are hitting Reid now.

Everything feels like it’s happening at once. Grace is screaming; Reid is punching Nate—who is returning his blows.

“Stop it!” I yell. “Stop!”

No one listens. Reid has the loose end of the chain and is pulling it around Nate’s throat. This is it: Reid’s death.

I thought I’d stopped it. I want to stop it.

This isn’t what I want.

I have to stop it.

“Just shove him in the cabin!” I yell.

Reid is staring at me. “What?”

His calm vanishes, and he grabs Grace and throws her to the ground. There’s a sickening thunk as her head hits something, a rock or tree root, I can’t tell. It doesn’t matter though. What matters is that she’s not moving.

“Grace!”

At my scream, Nate sees that Grace is motionless. He’s distracted and in that moment Reid takes advantage of his inattention to slam his elbow into Nate’s throat.

Nate lets out a gurgling noise, as Reid follows the throat-blow with a kick to the groin.

Nate goes down. He and Grace are on the ground. I’m not sure how badly she’s hurt, but Nate, at least, is conscious. He’s trying to get to his feet, but he’s clearly in too much pain.

Reid pushes to his feet. “Get in the car, Eva.”

He raises his foot to stomp on Nate’s throat.

“No!” I take aim and squeeze the trigger.

The sound Reid makes is more of a scream than a yell.

He falls to the ground.

He clutches his wound. The blood is thick and instant.

It’s not exactly the same as my vision. In the real moment, I made a different choice: I had aimed for his upper leg, and that’s what I hit.

I hear a car coming, but I move closer to them instead of turning to see who’s arrived.

Grace isn’t moving, but her eyes flutter open. She starts to pull herself toward me, farther away from Reid, who is sprawled on the ground, hands clutching his bleeding leg.

I lift the gun again, aim it at Reid, and ask, “Did he . . . what did he do to you, Grace?”

“Nothing. I’m okay, Eva,” Grace says in a raspy voice. “I swear it.”

Nate crawls toward Grace and pulls her into his arms. “Her head is bleeding,” he says. His hand is wet with her blood, and his face is filled with scrapes and the yellow beginnings of bruises.

I hear car doors closing now. I turn to see who’s arrived.

My gun arm is partway up again when I hear Detective Grant order, “Lower it, Eva.”

I swallow a sob and realize that I started crying at some point.

Then the detective is beside me. She takes the gun from my hand carefully and hands it to another officer.

Several more officers arrive. One of them is restraining Reid; another is checking on Grace. In a matter of minutes, an ambulance arrives, as do my parents and the Yeungs and Nate’s mother.

EMTs take over care for Grace, Nate, and Reid. They’ve taken Grace and Reid away from where we all were, but Nate is still on the ground near me. I hear him say, “I can’t stand yet.”

Officers go into the cabin. I watch it all in a stunned silence. It’s all so fast. I feel like they’re on fast-forward, and I’m moving on slow.

“Is he going to die?” I finally ask. I look at Detective Grant and say, “I’m the one who shot him. It was only me. No one else knew about the gun.”