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I tuck the release stone into the inner pocket of my field vest, close against my chest, and lead Ezra through the back door. Fog has swallowed the dock, the greenhouse, and every grave beyond the yard.

Somewhere east of us, a man shouts. Theo answers with a sound that isn’t words.

Ezra’s grip tightens around mine. Together, we turn away from home and run.

Chapter 41

Theo Heron

The case between Wes and me is too light to contain anything worth Pepper’s life.

Fog swallows the cemetery ten feet at a time. The charity ground should be visible from here. Instead, pale headstones rise out of the white and disappear again before I can count them. The false route ribbons Pepper tied to the case drag against my leg.

No one tries to take the bait.

Wes slows beside me. “They’re not coming for the case.”

The knowledge sits cold in my chest. “They knew.”

“Maybe not everything.”

“They knew enough.”

A strip of white ribbon lies in the mud ahead. Cut cleanly through the knot. This one was dropped where we would find it. It’s a message.

Wes sets down his end of the case. “They want us standing here while they move west.”

Toward the house. Toward Pepper and Ezra.

Every part of me turns toward the scent I can no longer find. The fog has swallowed rosemary, apples, and the path behind us. My body tells me to run after them. Pepper’s voice answers from memory.

Meet us at the circle.

Running straight toward her would pull anyone watching me onto the real route. I force myself to stay still.

Wes watches my face. “We cut them off.”

I nod. “We stop whoever is chasing her.”

I will protect my pack.

We leave the decoy case beside the false grave and move north through the charity ground.

The fog changes sounds, and pulls tricks. Our boots strike wet earth, but the echo comes from somewhere ahead. A motorcycle revs near the east wall, then answers from behind us. The bell tolls once, seeming close enough to touch.

Wes raises one hand.

We stop.

A branch snaps to our left, and a man comes out of the fog with a tire iron raised over his shoulder.

I step into him and drive my fist into his throat.

He folds.

A second man rushes Wes.

Wes catches his wrist, turns beneath the knife, and slams him face-first into a marble marker.