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DK, Hunter, Killian, and Alessio emerge from the treeline, their silhouettes gradually becoming recognizable as they step into the faint moonlight.

“Fuck,” DK says, his eyes widening as he takes in the blood running from my ear. “Did I hit you?”

I touch the wound and glance at the blood coating my fingertips. “Flesh wound.”

Hunter steps closer, his expression tense. “We thought you were⁠—”

“Amber, yeah, I know.” I slide my gun back into the holster at my side. “She’s not out here, but we found Stella and Auggy. Remy and Whitaker are with them.”

Knight pushes forward immediately. “Are they okay?”

I shake my head because I do not have an answer that will make any of us feel better. “I don’t know. Auggy is probably fine. Drugged, I think, but Stella…” I swallow hard, forcing the image of that girl curled against the stone out of my mind. “They need an ambulance. Immediately.”

If I thought that news would give us even a moment of relief, I was wrong. The five of us stare at one another in the darkness, all of us having followed different paths to the same place, driven by the same purpose and the same desperate need to find a killer before she could hurt anyone else.

We are standing out here in the dark, surrounded by trees and the sound of rushing water, following clues, memories, and a legacy that stretches back farther than any of us realized. We have found the girls. We have found the place where Amber kept them. We have uncovered enough of the truth to know exactly how far she was willing to go.

But there is one problem we cannot escape: If she’s not here, then where the fuck is she?

43

Arianette

I wake to a soft noise somewhere in the room.

For several seconds, I lie perfectly still, caught between sleep and consciousness, trying to place it. The room is pitch black, the curtains drawn tight against the windows, and without Timothy beside me, the darkness feels deeper than it should. My body is heavy with exhaustion, every muscle still remembering the ballet, the memories, the long night of forcing open doors in my mind that I have spent years keeping locked.

“Timothy?” I call softly, my voice rough with sleep.

There is no answer.

I let my head sink back into the pillow, convinced for a moment that I imagined the sound. My eyes flutter closed, but I’m still alert, that old instinct that has kept me alive through things I still don't fully remember.

When I open my eyes again, I squint into the dark. At first, I see nothing, but then something shifts across the room.

My breath catches.

A shape stands near the far wall, almost completely swallowed by the darkness. I stare at it, trying to make sense of what I'm seeing. It is too tall to be a person, or at least that is what my half-asleep mind tells me. Something long and curved rises from either side of the figure, ridged and curling toward the ceiling.

Horns.

My heart gives one hard, painful beat, before lodging in my throat.

I blink.

The shape disappears.

I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head against the pillow, trying to force myself awake enough to separate memory from reality. The Beast. That's all. My mind has been raked through the worst moments of my life tonight, and apparently it isn't finished with me yet. I settle back beneath the blankets, letting my heart rate match my breathing, letting sleep drift back over me.

The floorboard creaks.

My eyes fly open.

“Timothy?” This time his name barely makes it past my lips. “Damon?”

Something moves in the darkness.

“They're not here, Daughter of Darkness.” Every drop of warmth leaves my body. I know that voice.