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I grab the chair marked with the red ribbon. “What happens?”

Her eyes meet mine. “She remains.”

“That could mean anything.”

“It means exactly what it sounds like.”

“I need more.”

Mercy takes a breath. “The land needs an anchor.”

“Why?”

“The thing beneath it cannot stay here without one.”

I think of what chased me through the corn. “It looked pretty fucking real.”

“Part of it.”

My skin crawls. “That was part?”

“Yes.”

Great. Wonderful. Fucking spectacular.

“What is the anchor?”

She looks at the Bride’s chair. “No.”

My stomach drops.

“No.”

“The Bride carries the Harvest.”

I back away.

“Pregnant?”

“No.”

Relief hits so hard, I almost laugh.

Mercy doesn’t.

Which kills the relief immediately.

“Worse.”

My stomach turns.

“What could possibly be worse?”

Her eyes fill. “You stop being entirely human.”

Silence.

I stare. “No.”