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“The two that brought me here carry supplies to the altar. Jars. Herbs.” She swallows. “One scoops beetles out of the case and fills a container. My heart pounds so loud that it fills my ears and the movement around me slows. They’re ready, but I’ve already started to drift off, my mind protecting itself. Going to that quiet place Whitaker told me about.”

Periwinkle.

“‘Arianette,’ the Beast says, dragging me back to the surface. Their voice is muffled by the mask. ‘When I started this process I knew that you would need to be part of it. I’ve spent months collecting the perfect sacrifices–each of you fulfilling a need–but you,’ she said. ‘You are more than just another girl brought to the altar. Your death will ricochet through the city and harm the man who destroyed me. Your blood will start the ritual and once every corner of Forsyth has given an offering, the earth will shudder under the feet of those who have oppressed me, and the very earth under our feet will be reborn.’”

If there was any question who was behind the mask, there’s zero room for doubt. Amber’s kidnapping of Arianette wasn’t ever about her. It was always about hurting me. It was always about some sociopathic need to fulfill her bloodthirst disguised as destiny.

“I had no idea what they were talking about or why they were focused on me, but as I knelt there, cold and weak, I saw something behind them.”

“What did you see?”

“A crack in the door.” Her breath catches. “I don’t know who opened it or why. I only know the sudden gap of darkness yawning at the far end of the room, a narrow seam of night against the torchlit stone. One chance. That is all I will ever get.” She swallows. “I block out everything else. Whatever the Beast and my captors are chanting. I ignore the clink of metal on the altar. The beetles scratching against the edge of the container. I wait like I’d been taught. I got quiet like my uncle expected of me. I felt myself vanish like I was on the edge of the stage at Mayfield, preparing for my turn to entertain, until it was just me and that crack.” Her voice vibrates with a tremor. “And then I ran.”

I was absorbed in the story–the memory–that’s finally come to light. Listening as the words rush through Arianette like water released from a dam. “My bare feet slap against the stone as I lunge upright and run. The chanting fractures behind me into shouts. Someone reaches for me and misses. On the other side of the door I turn, slamming it shut, finding the iron latch that bolts it shut, sliding it into place. The cold air of the outer passage hits my face like a slap, it’s another tunnel. I have no idea where it’ll end–if it will end, but I have no choice but to keep going.”

Her breath comes fast and quick, like she’s there right now.

“I don’t know how far or how long I go, but I find another door. I don’t know where it leads, and I don’t stop to think about whether it’s a trap. I just need to get away from him, so I reach for the handle and pull it open.”

Her eyes squeeze shut, and I watch her face tighten as the memory takes hold of her again. “There’s a woman inside. She’s chained to the wall, and for a second I think she’s dead because her head is hanging to the side and she doesn’t move. But then I see her chest rise. She’s alive.” Her voice catches, and her fingers curl against her knees. “There are runes painted across her chest and abdomen in black soot. Greek letters written down her shin… I don’t understand what they mean, but I remember one of them because it looks like a triangle. At her feet are sticks– four dried branches arranged into a rough diamond, like they’re supposed to represent something whole. Three of them are intact, but the fourth has been cleanly snapped in half and pressed back into place.”

I listen as Arianette describes a victim–most likely Laura Walker. She’s never revealed that she’s seen any of the girls before. This memory is fresh.

She swallows hard, her breathing growing faster. “I want to help her. I want to go to her, but then I hear something behind me. The door starts rattling, and I know he’s coming. I know I don’t have time.” Her voice drops until I almost have to lean closer to hear her. “I whisper, ‘I’ll come back for you.’ Then I run.”

Her shoulders tense as the memory carries her forward. “I find another door, this one made of iron. A grate that leads to the outside. When I push through it, dirt replaces the stone beneath my feet, and I crash into the trees at full speed, branches whipping across my arms and cheeks. My robe rips off, and I’m naked, the forest tearing at my skin and tangling in my hair. I do not slow. I cannot, because I know I have only bought time—not my freedom.”

“Arianette,” I breathe, holding her tight. I knew she was strong, but not like this. She was fearless.

“I’m engulfed by trees when I hear the first twig snap. The Beast's footsteps are heavy, unhurried—yet every one of them lands closer than the last. They know these woods. They know I have nowhere left to go.”

She begins to shift against me, her body subtly following the memory of flight. I flatten my palm against her stomach, anchoring her to the present even as her mind races through the past.

“I am running as hard as I can,” she says, voice rising. “My feet are bleeding. The ground is uneven and every step hurts, but I can hear the Beast getting closer and I know if I look back I will lose whatever lead I have. The trees keep clawing at me. I can feel blood on my skin. And then suddenly there is open space ahead and the sound of water–thunderous as it cuts through the woods. I reach the edge before I can stop myself and there is a drop—a ravine—and the water is far below. I can feel the cold rising up from it. Behind me the footsteps stop. The Beast is standing in the trees, horns curled toward the sky.”

Her whole body is shaking now. Tears slip down her temples and onto my chest, but I do not speak. I only hold her tighter and press my cheek against her hair, giving her the quiet certainty of my presence.

“The decision is made by my body, not my mind,” she whispers, the words breaking. “I jump.”

“And?”

The only sound is the faint hiss of the candles and the uneven rhythm of her breathing as the memory finally releases her. After a long moment her shoulders sag against me.

“The hospital,” she says quietly.

I press a slow kiss to her hair, still saying nothing, keeping her held against me while the last of the trembling fades. “You’re a good girl, Arianette.”

Her eyes flutter open. “Did that help?”

I nod. Because now I know what happened between the cell and the river. She was prepared for ritual in what Amber would have considered the most sacred space in Forsyth–the place that would bring her closest to fulfilling her destiny. Arianette was brought to a chamber that sounds less like Barons controlled tunnels or our own crypts and more like something buried deep beneath it by someone else.

“It did,” I tell her, kissing her once again.

“I can’t believe I forgot that girl.” Her voice is strained–exhausted. “I told her I would go back, but I didn’t. I couldn’t remember.”

“It’s okay, baby. It’s not your fault.” I thread her fingers through mine and pull us both up off the floor. Reaching into my pocket, I touch the charm I found hidden in Amber’s jewelry box. I rub my thumb over the engraving, feeling the deep imprint of the tree, the way the roots seem to dig into the metal itself. There is only one place left in Forsyth that still honors the Kayes bloodline the way this symbol demands. One place where the old rites were never fully abandoned. One place that would feel like home to a woman who has spent years perfecting the art of looking broken while creating a flood of blood beneath the city’s feet.

The Forsyth Cemetery.