It didn’t feel like a war zone. But I knew better.
Archer caught my attention with a soft tap on my arm. He pointed up toward the sky—watch for harpies—then down toward a dirt path that wound through the trees below. His hand mimicked walking, then made a slashing motion across his throat.
The queen’s men. That was their route to and from the castle.
I nodded, my mouth dry. So we sat. And we watched.
Grump had told us not to shoot unless it was absolutely necessary—such as the enemy discovering Nowhere Grotto. More patrols had been sweeping through the forest lately, searching for our hideout.
No one had said anything, but I suspected I was the reason.
Ever since Ari saw me stop time, I felt like I had a big target on my back. Word had to have gotten back to the queen by now. A witch who could freeze the world mid-heartbeat? She’d want that power for herself.
I had a feeling she’d try to use me as a weapon—just like she’d tried with Joy and her shadows. I had to find a way to freeze time and help all of us escape before we fell into her clutches.
But if I couldn’t? If she caught me?
Stopping time would be deadly in the wrong hands. If the queen caught me, I’d rather be dead than be her weapon.
Hours crept by. Nothing stirred below except biting insects that found every inch of exposed skin. The sunlight wasn’t my friend either—it seemed to take pleasure in making me sweat, my eyes watering against the relentless brightness.
I was starting to think today would be uneventful and I wouldn't have to be put to the test. Relief and disappointment warred in my chest. Failing would be awful—but so would never getting the chance to prove myself.
Then something rustled behind me.
I turned. Archer already had an arrow nocked, his body coiled tight, eyes fixed on something above us. He didn’t hesitate. The string sang and the arrow sailed upward, vanishing into the canopy.
A shriek split the air—high and furious and almost human.
CrapCrapCrapCrap
I froze, my grip tightening on the bow. What the hell was that?
Then something crashed through the leaves and branches, snapping limbs as it fell, black wings flailing.
Oh shit.
A harpy.
She lay on the forest floor, her black wings crumpled beneath her, one bent at a wrong angle. Blood poured from her side where Archer’s arrow had found its mark. Even from up here, I could hear her—a low, keening whimper that drifted through the branches.
Not a battle cry. Not a threat.
Just pain.
My heart clenched. Someone—or something—was in trouble.
I was already moving, scrambling down the tree, bark scraping my palms. Archer grabbed my arm, his eyes sharp with warning.
I shook him off. “She’s dying.”
He hesitated, jaw tight, then followed me down.
My boots hit the ground, and I ran to her. Up close, she was younger than I’d expected. Her long black hair—glossy and beautiful even tangled with leaves and blood—fanned out across the dirt. Pale skin stretched over sharp cheekbones. Her eyes—wide and terrified—tracked my every movement.
She wasn’t snarling. She wasn’t lunging.
She wasafraid.
