—Pippy—

  “Do you think these are the right herbs?” Pippy asked, scrunching her freckled face as she held a bundle up to the light.

  Arthur wandered over, brushing hair out of his eyes. He’d slimmed down these past weeks—less baby fat, more definition. Hard work and hunger tended to shape people fast. She wondered, not for the first time, how much this place had shaped him on the inside too.

  He took the herbs gently from her hands, lifted them to his nose, and inhaled.

  “Nope. Not these.” He grabbed another handful from their gathered pile. “Here, smell this. This is the good kind.”

  She leaned in, nose brushing the leaves. Fresh. Sharp. Almost minty.

  Arthur nodded. “Now smell the first ones again.”

  She did. Her face scrunched further. “Oh! Okay, yeah, that’s totally different. Thanks, Arthur!”

  The boy flashed a bright, unguarded smile.

  “Anytime.”

  Pippy snorted a laugh. “You know…you’ve got a nice smile.”

  Arthur instantly turned pink and cleared his throat. “Uh—so, um—are you nervous about seeing Coach again?”

  She blinked. “Nervous? Why would I be nervous?”

  He glanced around, making sure no one was close, and lowered his voice.

  “Because of…you know.” He hesitated. “The thing Lance told us.”

  Pippy’s expression didn’t budge.

  “Coach wouldn’t do anything without a good reason. And if he did”—she shrugged, steadfast—“then he had a good reason.”

  Arthur frowned. She could tell he wanted to argue, but something held him back.

  A soft chirp made her glance up. A tiny black bird perched on a branch above them, watching her with unnervingly intent eyes.

  Arthur kept talking, oblivious. “I just think we should be careful, that’s all.”

  “Careful?” Pippy scoffed. “Everyone here’s been super nice lately! Even Tim, the guy who made me clean his tent for two weeks, brought me water this morning.”

  Arthur laughed. “They’re terrified of Coach.”

  Pippy opened her mouth to reply, but froze. The small bird was gone. And…voices drifted through the trees.

  “Do you hear that?” she whispered.

  Arthur silenced instantly, straining his ears.

  The voices grew clearer.

  “…so then I come in like, ‘Daddy’s home and he’s about to take his belt off.’”

  “Dude no. Nobody spanks kids anymore. They’re just gonna think you’re doing something weird.”

  Two voices. Familiar. Approaching.

  Then—

  “Well, well, well.”

  Two figures stepped into the clearing.

  A giant, involuntary tearful smile burst across Pippy’s face.

  “Mister Donovan?”

  —Lance—

  Mist clung low to the camp as Granny Ida shuffled through her tent, gathering herbs with quick, practiced hands.

  “Do you have to stick to me like a barnacle?” She muttered as Lance hovered behind her, tense as a drawn bowstring.

  “We don’t have time,” he hissed. “We need to go. Now.”

  “I’m coming, I’m coming. You men, always rushing a lady.” She scanned her table for the last of her poultices.

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  Lance stepped further back, checking the shadows. “They’ll come for us. They know we’re close to him. They’ll try to use us against him.” His voice cracked. “Not that he cares.”

  Granny paused, turning to study him with sharp, tired eyes. “You didn’t talk to him?”

  Lance shook his head. He had seen Coach earlier, standing in the clearing with that puffer-jacket guy, reunited with Pippy and Arthur. He had stayed cloaked, unwilling to show himself.

  Granny clicked her tongue. “You’re such a boy.”

  “What do you expect?” Lance snapped. “He lied to us. And now I hear he’s a killer!”

  Granny resumed packing, calm as snowfall. “I’ve been around a long time. That man is many things, but a danger to us isn’t one of them.”

  “He never trusted us,” Lance muttered. “Why should we trust him?”

  “You’re being dramatic.”

  He opened his mouth to argue, but something twitched in the air.

  The tent flap cracked open.

  Two men stepped inside. One a tired-looking middle-aged hunter, the other one of Jason’s remaining crew. Their expressions were cold and purposeful.

  “You two, come with us,” the older man ordered.

  Lance’s stomach dropped. How had he missed them? He cursed himself silently. One job. He had one job.

  He slid into a stance.

  The second man, with pockmarked skin and greasy black hair, glanced at his partner. The older man nodded.

  His eyes flashed green.

  The world crushed downward.

  Lance hit a knee instantly, breath punched out of him.

  “A-Ahh—!”

  “Lance!” Granny cried, rushing forward, but the older man blocked her with a casual raise of his hand.

  “We’re meant to bring you both,” he said. “But we only need one.”

  The pressure doubled. Lance’s ribs strained. The world narrowed to a tunnel; the edges collapsing into shadow.

  “That’s enough,” the older man said, lazily inspecting his nails.

  The pockmarked man’s lip curled into a hateful grin as he tightened the invisible weight. The other hunter didn’t even notice. He seemed used to this cruelty.

  Lance’s face hit the dirt. Breathing turned to choking. His bones creaked.

  The older man looked up from inspecting his nails, then gave a slow, pitying shake of his head.

  “Lance! Lance, look at me!” Granny pleaded.

  He tried. His muscles barely obeyed. The man’s power was overwhelming, like pure malice made physical.

  A tear slid down Lance’s cheek, mixing with the soil.

  He thought distantly, I should have talked to Coach. Life’s too short for stupid grudges. He didn’t have the luxury of being so picky. He needed all the help he could get in this world. All these thoughts came rushing at him.

  He forced his head up an inch, enough to see Granny’s terrified face. At least he’d see the face of someone who cared before he was gone. Not the worst way to go.

  Then. Release.

  All at once, the pressure vanished. Lance gasped like a drowning man breaking the surface.

  Something warm splattered across his cheek.

  Blood.

  He forced his head up in a daze.

  The pockmarked man—the one crushing him moments ago—stood motionless…then toppled forward like a felled tree, face-first into the dirt.

  Behind the falling body stood a young man with black hair and a puffer jacket, breath steady, eyes colder than winter.

  “Sorry, I’m late,” he said. “Traffic was hell.”

  The older hunter spun, raising jagged earth spikes from the ground, but he was already moving, sliding between them like a shadow too fast for thought.

  “Barrett was right about you,” he said, almost bored as he leapt.

  He kicked off a rising spike, twisting midair, and snapped a heel into one of the stone shards, sending it rocketing back into the hunter’s foot.

  The man screamed.

  “Empty calories,” Maku said flatly.

  “Y-you’re dead!” the hunter roared, summoning more spikes—

  He never finished.

  Twenty shimmering mana spears manifested behind him and tore through the older man in a single, merciless volley.

  Silence.

  Granny Ida staggered to her feet, shaking. “Who…who are you?”

  Maku wiped blood from his sleeve with mild annoyance. “Name’s Maku. Barrett sent me.”

  He lifted a hand preemptively. “And no—I’m not part of ‘Team Donovan.’”

  —Fred—

  Fred stood at the edge of the clearing with the small group they’d managed to scrape together. Fifteen people in total. More bodies than fighters, really. A handful clutched makeshift weapons; others just looked terrified. Still…it should be more than enough. He had faced Barrett with less and won.

  He rubbed his thumb against his palm, trying to quell the restless energy building in his chest.

  Across the circle, Rei moved from person to person, whispering instructions with the calm, focused intensity of someone tightening screws on a bomb. When he first met her, he’d thought she was simply A-type—sharp, competent, maybe a little bossy. His type, honestly. But weeks into this world, he’d seen the cracks. The way her eyes stayed dry when others cried. The way she evaluated people like assets. He’d known men like her in the corporate world. Sociopaths in business suits.

  He feared this place wouldn’t restrain that trait at all. It would sharpen it. Weaponize it.

  Sometimes he wondered if people like her were the only ones built to thrive in a world like this.

  “You look nervous.”

  Fred turned. Tanya stood beside him, arms folded, jaw steady. She had a soldier’s stillness, like she’d already made peace with anything that might happen.

  “Not sure what to expect,” he admitted.

  She nodded. “You mean after…the bag.”

  Fred didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. Everyone had seen what was inside it. Everyone had been rattled. If Jason—loud, cruel, level fifteen Jason—could be reduced to that…what did that say about the man who did it?

  Fred glanced toward the tree line, a mist-soaked curtain of gray. He’d heard Barrett was coming almost an hour ago. He’d sent two men out to fetch “insurance.”

  They should’ve returned by now.

  As the thought surfaced, silhouettes emerged from the fog.

  Fred’s pulse spiked.

  It was him.

  Barrett Donovan stepped out of the mist like a ghost someone had pissed off—boots sinking quietly into the damp earth, camo pants stark against the pale morning light, black beater stretched across his chest, trench swinging behind him. Dog tags clinked softly with each stride. And above it all, the ridiculous Stars and Stripes bandana.

  He searched Barrett’s face for some hint of emotion, but the sunglasses turned the man into a blank, unreadable wall.

  Fred would’ve laughed at this wannabe 80s action hero. On any other day. In any other world.

  But not now. Not after Jason.

  Walking beside Barrett were the two kids, Arthur and Pippy. They were small shadows flanking a giant. Both moved with an almost eerie calm, as if they carried absolute faith in the man leading them.

  Fred almost let out a bitter laugh.

  From a distance, it looked less like a march into danger and more like two schoolyard kids fetching their overzealous dad to settle a playground fight.

  Fred opened his mouth to speak, something diplomatic—something to ease the tension—

  But Barrett beat him to it.

  “The only thing I wanna hear from you,” Barrett said, voice low and cold, “is how many cigars of mine are left.”

  Fred exhaled all at once.

  Shit.