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Red ribbons appear around wrists.

The Earth turns black.

And the screaming begins.

Mercy.

The field goes black.

I gasp and the vision releases me.

Ezra catches my shoulders. “What did you see?”

“They broke it.”

Mercy closes her eyes. “Yes.”

“The founders.”

“Yes.”

“They didn’t create the Harvest.”

“No.”

“They domesticated it.”

Mercy looks at me. “Or tried.”

My stomach turns.

“They took something that was supposed to be shared and turned it into ownership.”

“Yes.”

The crowned figure bows its head.

I understand not everything but enough.

“You don’t want a Bride.”

The corn rustles.

“No.” My mark burns. “You want a Keeper.”

The figure looks at me.

“But what the fuck is a Keeper?”

This time, Mercy answers. “The person who tells the land when enough is enough.”

I look at her—her eyes fill. “That was our role.”

“The McBrides?”

“Before Bride.”

My throat tightens.