The wind bites through my wet clothes, but I don’t care. There’s solid ground beneath me. I reach out with my mind, letting it stretch into the rustling blades of the beach grass that crests the dunes.
Jack collapses beside me. He rolls onto his back, chest heaving and arms splayed, the seawater on his skin forming a layer of frost. I reach across the sand and slip my hand into his. His eyes are closed, his face ghostly pale in the moonlight, as if he spent all that remained of his energy sinking our last tie to Chronos’s world. I pull away, afraid of drawing any more of his strength from him, but his hand closes fast around mine.
“Don’t,” he whispers. “You’re warm. It feels good.” His thumb traces slow sandy circles over my skin. For the first time since I woke up, I’m not the one taking, drawing, draining. I hold him as his breathing slows and he drifts toward sleep. He’s peaceful, blanketed by a wind that makes my own teeth chatter, and I wonder if this is what it will always be like for us. If I’ll always feel out of my element yet completely alive when I’m with him.
Slinky wriggles out of the lifeboat, his tail bristled against the dark. He pauses on the sand, ears pricked as a growl builds deep in his chest. Careful not to rouse Jack, I push up on my elbow to see what’s got him ruffled. I follow the cat’s line of sight to the parking lot behind the dunes.
“We’re not alone,” I say in a low voice.
A crow’s perched on top of a lamppost. Its black wings spread as it launches into the sky with a shrillcaw. Slinky sprints after it, kicking up sand as Marie scrambles to catch him.
Julio shoots to his knees. Amber’s already up, scenting the air. I smell nothing but salt and seaweed. “We need to move,” she says.
A ripple of panic rolls through me. The beach is low ground. We’ve got an ocean at our backs, and the onshore breeze is strong enough to carry our scents far inland. She’s right. We’re not safe here.
Julio hauls the backpacks and supplies from the lifeboat and tosses them onto the beach. I shake Jack awake. His eyes flutter open.
“What’s wrong?” His backpack lands beside him, scattering sand. Chill pulls Poppy to her feet.
“Crow,” I tell him.
Julio slashes the air from the lifeboat, compressing it into a tight ball and disposing of it in a trash barrel at the base of the dunes. He jogs backto grab the last of the bags. “There’s a bathhouse in the parking lot on the other side of the dunes. We can change into dry clothes and get out of the wind there.”
We pull our backpacks on over our salt-crusted sweatshirts and sling duffels over our arms. Amber flashes the “all clear” sign from the top of the dune. Behind her, Marie clutches the anxious cat to her chest as we climb the beach toward them.
The parking lot glows ahead of us. Jack slows beside me, our wet shoes dragging through the sand. His eyes search the shadows under the bathhouse stilts, then sharpen on the peaked roof where a crow alights to watch us.
“Go,” Jack tells Chill, nodding sharply toward the bathhouse. “I don’t know how much time we have.”
“Not long.” Julio’s eyes flash. “You smell that?” Jack’s nostrils flare. A smoky, charred odor sours the wind. Amber swears. I’m the last one to place it. “An Autumn,” Julio says. “The crows must have spotted us hours ago.”
Amber drops her backpack. She flexes her fingers as she scans the line of trees across the parking lot. “I guess we’re about to meet my replacement.”
Jack jogs after our Handlers, his feet stealth silent on the bathhouse ramp. It’s well after midnight. The public utilities are closed, locked until sunrise. He kneels beside the door, a penlight clenched between his front teeth as he picks the lock for them. I let out a held breath as our Handlers disappear inside.
“You should go, too,” Julio tells me. “Dry off. Warm up.” I can read all the things he’s not saying in the subtle lift of his nose and theway he averts his eyes. I’ve never battled an Autumn. He thinks I can’t hunt it like Jack or fight it like Amber. Screw that.
I drop my pack and pull the knife from my pocket. “I’m staying.”
Amber paces, searching the trees for movement. Julio watches the beach, his nose tipped to smell whoever’s coming. But Ifeelthem. The press of incoming feet against the earth is a soft push against my consciousness. The brush of arms scraping aside tree limbs is like fingernails dragging over my skin, and I suppress a shudder.
The bathhouse door creaks open.
Marie, Chill, Poppy, and Woody file out in dry clothes.
The ramp is long. High and narrow and brightly lit, it’s a perfect target. Breath held, I watch our Handlers descend it. The wind shifts as they near the bottom, blowing Poppy’s hair, carrying the lemon scent of her detangler, the tang of her fear, the salt that clings to her sweater. And with it, the sound of a blade hissing through the dark.
JACK
Silver sings through the air.
“Get down!” Amber shouts. Woody cries out and drops. Poppy, Chill, and Marie duck, huddled around him, the press of their hands stifling the sudden, sharp smell of blood.
The Autumn emerges from the trees, a red light glowing by his ear. He’s tall, his tight buzz cut and his faded green fatigues only becoming clear once he’s within reach of the streetlight. I can’t make out his features, but something about his catlike gait feels familiar.
Amber roars as she hurls a scorching ball of fire at him. The Autumn sucks in a sharp breath as it skims past his cheek.
He wipes the singed flesh with the back of his hand. Then, in a single fluid motion, he fires back. The wind carries his flame hard and fast. Amber clutches her arm where it rips through her sleeve. I spring, but Julio holds me back. He shakes his head, his eyes glued to her. “He’s peak. If he gets ahold of you, you’re done. She can handle this.” He’s not worried. Not yet. Julio knows what she’s capable of better than I do.
