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“You don’t know what he did,” she says.

I swallow. “Then tell me.”

“Not here.”

“Then don’t go after him alone.”

Her eyes flash. “You think I’m going to fall apart.”

“I think he wants you to be angry.”

That lands. I can see it. But instead of calming her down, it just makes her more furious.

“He should want me angry.”

She shoves past me.

I catch her wrist before she can storm down the path. “Emma, stop.”

Her head jerks toward me, eyes bright with something wild and dangerous. “Take your hand off me.”

I let go immediately.

But I won’t stop talking.

“If you do this, I’m coming with you.”

“No.”

“Too bad.”

She opens her mouth to argue again—then freezes.

A rustle cuts through the stalks to our left.

Not wind. Not other people.

Footsteps. Fast.

Emma’s head snaps toward the sound just as a figure slips past the next gap in the maze, barely visible between the rows.

Danny moves.

And Emma bolts.

“Emma—damn it⁠—”

I go after her.

She flies around the corner, her shoulder clipping dry stalks hard enough to make them crack and sway. Dirt kicks up under her boots. I’m right behind her, trying not to lose sight of her dark jacket as she tears through the winding path.

“Emma, slow down!”

She ignores me.

Ahead of us, another flicker of movement—Danny taking the next turn hard.

He knows she’s following now.