Mr. Langdon stays by my side while the others trek on ahead, expertly navigating through the ferns and overgrown vegetation. He’s trying to be kind by staying with me, but it’s the last thing I need. I have to find Ulrika and silence her. My hand tightens around the hilt of my dagger.

“Where exactly is the Lupine village?” I ask too loudly, making an animal scurry into the undergrowth. Patrick throws me an impatient look over his shoulder.

“We don’t know,” Mr. Langdon replies. “Somewhere up on the Claw. Watch it!”

Mr. Langdon shoves me, and I fall to the forest floor with a heavy thud. Harriet and Drew laugh. Mr. Langdon points toward a wire snare on the ground, partially hidden beneath some dead leaves. I notice the other end of the wire is tied to a branch about twelve feet overhead.

“Spring trap,” he says. “If you’d stepped on it, you’d be hanging upside down from that tree by now.”

Patrick walks over to us and helps me to my feet in an uncharacteristically friendly gesture. “The Lupines have snares all over the forest to trap deer, so watch where you put your feet, moron.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, glancing up at the branch above us. “Seems a bit extreme, hanging a deer several meters off the ground.”

Patrick shrugs. “It keeps the catch away from other predators.”

I look at the snare again, shuddering slightly. If I were out here on my own, I’d be a dead man. The Lupines’ main food source might be venison, but they will take the occasional human—as proved over the past six weeks—especially if that human is stupid enough to walk straight into their traps.

Harriet and Drew smirk at me before turning their backs, and continue hiking through the forest. I sigh, dusting myself off, and follow them. A cold wind rustles the leaves, which make a strange whispering sound as the breeze passes over them. I pluck one of the orange leaves off a tree, noticing a damaged white cocoon on it. Inside is a half-formed Night Whisper, its body deformed like mine.

Mr. Langdon takes the leaf from me and turns it over. On the underside are some very thin, tubelike veins. It strikes me that I’ve never properly inspected the leaves of a Carrow tree before, even though we have them in our garden.

“That’s what causes the trees to talk,” he explains, pointing to the tubes. “The wind blows through them, making that whispering noise.” He lets go of the leaf and it flutters to the moist ground. “Your mother used to love the sound of the trees when we came out here.”

My eyes widen. “You came into the forest with my mom?”

He nods, and we keep following the trail marked out for us by Patrick and the others. They’re a hundred feet ahead of us, so they can’t hear our conversation.

“Cassie and I used to sneak out here after your grandfather went to bed,” he says. I remember Catherine telling me her dad and my mom used to date as teens, so I can imagine what they were getting up to. Gross. “She loved it out here. She found life in Amber Hills stifling, trapped within those stone walls, but out here there was freedom and adventure.” He sighs, looking at me. “I never shared her enthusiasm for coming into the forest, though. Back in those days, this place was crawling with Darklings.”

A shiver trickles down my spine as he holds my gaze. I look away, terrified he’ll see through me and discover the secret lurking in the silent space where my heart should be beating.

“Those were dangerous times, Edmund. Your mother wasn’t afraid, though.” He shakes his head. “She didn’t think the Darklings were demons. Cassie wasn’t a follower of the faith.”

“What?” I touch the circular pendant around my neck—a symbol of our faith. My mom wasn’t a believer? But she was the minister’s daughter; how could she not have faith? I frown. I’ve heard a lot of terrible rumors about my mom this week: that she was crazy, that she hanged herself and now this? I don’t know why it bothers me so much, but the fact that she wasn’t a believer . . . well, I’m disappointed. My religion has given me so much strength; it’s kept me on a true path all these years. I think about Catherine and the sweet taste of her blood on my tongue, and my grip tightens around the pendant. I won’t ever do that again.

“I couldn’t marry a girl who didn’t have faith, so we parted ways,” Mr. Langdon says.

Ah. So that’s how he ended up with Mrs. Langdon? She was his second choice.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur.

Mr. Langdon shrugs. “Sarah has been a good wife to me, and we have . . . had . . . two beautiful children.” A sob escapes his lips, taking me by surprise.

I turn away, unable to stand looking at his grief when I’m the cause of it. Patrick snatches a look over his shoulder and notices his father crying. Patrick and the O’Malley siblings race over to us, their feet crashing through the undergrowth.

“What the hell did you say?” Patrick yells at me.

“Nothing!” I reply.

Patrick throws me a hate-filled look before slinging an arm around his father’s waist to support him as we continue our hike through the forest toward the Claw. It’s much farther away than I realized, and by lunchtime we’re still a few miles away from the mountain. I don’t mind. The trees, which I once found sinister, now seem beautiful in their dark, unique way. My feet easily navigate the uneven ground, barely snapping a twig. Soon I’m walking ahead of the others. I look back and catch Harriet watching me with grudging admiration.

Somewhere to my right I can hear the roar of a waterfall. I check my canteen. It’s empty. I follow the sound of the rushing water until I find a natural pool nestled among the foliage. I’m about to dip my canteen into the water when I catch a whiff of rotten eggs. I scrunch up my nose. It seems to be coming from the pool.

Drew ambles toward me and pinches his nose. “Geez, Edmund, was that you?”

I flush. “It’s the water.”

Drew smirks. “Sure.”

“I think sulfuric gas is leaking into it,” I murmur.

“Don’t stress about it; the volcano’s been dormant for centuries,” Drew says.

“Why don’t we rest for a while?” Mr. Langdon says, sitting down on the ground.

I don’t object. My feet are aching and I’m exhausted from the hike. The others sit down beside the pool while Patrick collects some wood and starts a fire. Harriet cooks some tins of beans over the flames, and everyone heartily tucks into their lunch. I poke my beans around the tin, pretending to eat them. When no one’s looking, I toss the food into the nearby foliage.

I pat my stomach, acting like I’m full. Patrick narrows his eyes at me, and doubt starts to niggle at my insides like an itch I can’t scratch. Does he suspect what I am? He knows I wear dentures; has he worked out why?

“I’m going to grab an hour’s shut-eye, if that’s all right,” Drew says.

“I’ll keep watch,” I say.

Harriet snorts, but Mr. Langdon gives me a sleepy smile. “Thank you, Edmund.”

“Try not to let anyone get killed this time, okay?” Harriet replies, referring to Mrs. Hope.

I glower at her. Patrick sits down and leans against a tree while the others lie down on the ground beside the fire, using their bags as a pillow. I take a pew on a rock near the waterfall and check my rifle to make sure it’s loaded. Patrick silently watches me as the others sleep.

“Your grandfather said a Lupine killed Catherine,” Patrick says.

My grip tightens around the gun. I look up, trying not to let my panic show.

“That’s what he told me too,” I reply.

“So you weren’t there when it happened?”

Yes. “No.”

He narrows his eyes. “Then where were you?”

I swallow. “At home. I ran home the moment the fighting broke out. I was scared.”

Patrick tilts his head, judging whether to believe me or not. “The funny thing is, I spoke to the funeral director this morning and he told me the weirdest thing. Apparently, there were bite marks on Catherine’s neck.”

I clench my hands to stop them from shaking. “The Howler must have done that.”

“That’s what I said,” Patrick replies. “But here’s the weird bit: he said the marks looked human. Isn’t that strange?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty strange.”

Patrick holds my gaze for a long, agonizing moment. “I guess he was wrong, though. I mean, why would anyone bite Catherine?”

He gives me a chilling smile, then shuts his eyes. As soon as he’s asleep, I take a few deep, ragged breaths, trying to force my panic aside. There’s no way he can tie me to Catherine’s death; there were no witnesses. Other than Ulrika. Reassured by this fact, I start to calm down. I stare at the fire, watching the amber flames dance, finding it soothing. He has nothing on me; it’s going to be fine. The hypnotic movement makes my lids begin to droop . . .

• • •

I start awake. Fragg! How long was I asleep? It felt like seconds, but the flames have died out, and only the glowing embers remain. Mr. Langdon and the others are breathing heavily, deep in sleep. The forest is colder than before, suggesting it’s late in the afternoon. We’ve been asleep for hours. Thank His Mighty everyone is all right. I’d never forgive myself if someone else got killed on my watch. I get up and check our perimeter, wondering what woke me. Then I hear it. A voice.

“Kieran!” a girl calls out from the forest, somewhere to my left.

Pain scrunches up in my chest and I wince. Ahh! What the hell? It’s just like the cramp I felt the other night, when Mrs. Hope was snatched. Not now! I roughly rub my chest, trying to force the pain aside as I grab my rifle. The sensible thing to do would be to stay here and wake Mr. Langdon, but something compels me to follow the voice, like a siren’s call. I take the safety off my gun and stalk into woods, ignoring my aching chest. The light instantly dims as I creep through the trees, keeping my footsteps light.

“Kieran?” the girl urgently calls again. There’s something familiar about her voice, and yet I’m pretty sure I’ve never heard it before. “Kieran, where are you?”

My grip tightens around the rifle as I walk farther up the mountain slope, toward the voice. The girl has to be a Lupine, since no one else lives up here. We must be closer to their village than we realized. I pad through the forest, my nerves mounting. Up ahead I notice a clearing between the Carrow trees. A strange tugging sensation pulls at my chest, telling me to go in that direction. I head toward the clearing, despite the voice screaming inside my head to turn back and get Mr. Langdon.

“Kieran! There you are,” the girl says from the clearing up ahead. “What on earth are you doing out here with them?”

“Relax, T,” the boy replies. “Luci and Annora are my friends.”

“If your cousin finds out, she’ll skin you alive,” the girl says.

“I’d like to see Ulrika try,” Kieran scoffs. “You won’t tell her, though, will you?”

I creep toward the clearing, fear pulsing through me. The pain in my chest worsens with every footstep, and I grit my teeth, trying to force it aside.

“Oh . . . !” The girl gasps.

“You okay?” Kieran says.

“Yes . . . yes, I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

“Hey, how did you know I was here?” Kieran says. “Were you stalking me? Oh my God, do you have a crush on me or something, T? I knew it.”

“Ha! In your dreams, dogbreath,” a different girl drawls.

“I was worried about you,” the first girl explains to Kieran. “It’s not safe out here. Now I realize why you snuck off without telling anyone. How do you even know these girls?”

I reach the clearing. Through the foliage I see the silhouette of a girl—she’s tall, easily six feet, and slim with a long mane of hair. Definitely Lupine. Her back is turned to me.

“I met them a few weeks ago,” Kieran replies. “You can trust them, I swear. Just don’t tell Ulrika, okay? She won’t understand.”

I raise my gun, take a step and—

“Argh!” I yell out in surprise as something snaps around my ankle and the world spins upside down. My rifle slips through my fingers and lands on the earth six feet below me. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realize I’ve stepped into a spring trap, but it’s hard to think straight as pain rips through my ankle and chest, leaving me gasping for breath.

There’s a snap of twigs as footsteps pad over to me.

“Don’t kill me!” I screw my eyes shut and say a silent prayer. I flinch as the girl’s sweet breath spills over my face. A thrill of pleasure ripples through my body, despite my terror.

“Give me one good reason not to,” the girl says, placing a knife against my neck.

I open my eyes. “I—” My words get lost on my lips.

A pair of angry silver eyes glares back at me. They’re framed with white lashes that match the girl’s snowy skin. Despite the fact that I’m looking at her upside down, I can tell she’s beautiful—a heart-shaped face, with full lips and rose-blushed cheeks. We hold each other’s gaze for a long moment, neither of us talking. I’m barely breathing. A crease forms in the girl’s brow as the expression in her eyes gradually shifts from anger to confusion to . . . something else. Recognition? She blinks, breaking the connection.

“Do I know you?” she says.

“I don’t think so.” It feels like we’ve met before, but surely I’d remember her. My Adam’s apple bobs nervously in my throat, causing the stubble on my neck to scratch against the girl’s blade. “I’m Edmund. What’s your name?”