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I stare at him.

For more than two centuries, there hasn’t been a single trace of that bloodline. No name. No return—nothing. I cling to the only fact I have left.

”There’s been no Bride.”

”There’s been no McBride.”

The distinction lands like a fist to my chest.

I look down at the dirt beneath my boots. It’s darker than it should be… and wet. It hasn’t rained in three days.

I crouch down and press two fingers against the earth. It’s warm.

Fuck.

I stand. “Find Malakai.”

Rhett gestures toward the corn. “After you.”

We enter the maze. The speakers have been turned off and the theatrical fog is thinning. Some of the employees are clearing the props and collecting dropped cups, phones, pieces of costumes and black ribbons that litter the ground. Hundreds of them entered my field tonight. Black for the Hunt. Black for the game. Black because I chose the fucking color. There hasn’t been a red ribbon at Ward Farm in more than two hundred years.

Not since her.

Not since the last McBride.

I filled those barrels myself. Every ribbon inside them was black. I checked twice. There was no red. There is never red.

And yet, somehow, Sage reached into one of those barrels and pulled out the one color I made damn sure would never be used again.

Red.

Bride.

The Earth didn’t choose from what we gave it. It made its own choice.

Rhett catches up. “You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

”Thinking so loudly it’s ruining my evening.”

I ignore him as we turn down another row and head for the clearing that appears ahead.

We both stop when we see Malakia standing in the center with his back to us right in front of the scarecrow that hangs.

Black dress. Burlap hood. Wooden crossbeam. One pale hand protrudes from the sleeve and Malakia is holding it.

“Kai.” I call out but he doesn’t move. “Malakai.” I say his name a little sterner.

His head turns slightly.

“Come here.” I order.

“No.”

I grit my teeth. “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean stay where you are.”