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By two a.m., I’m convinced something is really wrong, and by three a.m., I swear he has to be in jail or dead in a ditch somewhere. Once it has reached four a.m., I am mentally preparing myself for the fallout when Noa and Cipher find out Cave is dead.

Noa finally stops pacing around five a.m. and lies down at the foot of the bed. Cipher is still snuggled around me and sleeping soundly.

“Are you worried as well?” Noa asks.

“Yes. I have convinced myself that he is dead in a ditch somewhere.”

Noa chuckles. “I’ve had to talk myself down so many times. In my head, he is burying bodies without me, but what if he doesn’t dig the graves deep enough? You need to be strategic about avoiding where people might look for a missing person.”

After that, we both simply lie there in the overwhelming silence. I have realized it’s pointless listening for Cave; it’s not like we would hear him coming.

I don’t understand how I got here—to this emotional point—in such a short amount of time. Have I been so starved for attention that I’ve latched onto the first people who actually care about me?

Chapter Three

Cipher

My chest hurts like a son of a bitch. The pain is a sharp, constant ache, like someone took a blowtorch to my skin. Noa has left some painkillers by my bed, so I slowly roll to my side, then slide to the edge of the bed, and pull myself up into a sitting position. Once my head stops spinning, I grab the pills off the side table and swallow them down with a sip of water from the glass beside them.

I hate sitting around and doing nothing when there is so much that needs to be fixed, yet here I am, lying in bed. I have never been good at sitting still and doing nothing. Valli is no longer curled up beside me, but I can hear Noa snoring from somewhere inside the shed. I know he was up most of the night keeping watch over me, and I feel terrible.

Sneaking around is easy when Cave isn’t around. I peer into the shed to find no sign of Valli or Cave, only Noa, and he can sleep like the dead.

My workbench calls to me from across the room, where I have a project sitting half-finished: a small music box mechanism that I have been trying to fix all week. It’s intricate work and requires patience and attention—something I won’t get if everyone is hovering over me.

I sit carefully at the workbench and pull the mechanism closer. It’s delicate, with tiny gears, and I have been cataloging how each piece works, laying all the parts out meticulously, so I can easily put it back together.

I get lost in my tinkering as Noa continues to snore lightly in the background, and I tune him out. I know time is passing, as the morning sun moves across the shed, but how much I couldn’t even guess.

I’m so focused I don’t hear the snoring stop or someone step inside, too intent on figuring out each gear’s function. I only know it’s Cave when the air changes. It’s not something I can explain; it’s almost as if the temperature drops and a chill dances across my skin.

My hands still, and I sense him behind me.

His energy feels strange; this is not the same Cave as yesterday. His hand drops onto my shoulder and his fingers dig in, making me turn to look at him.

He has blood on his hands, forearms, and shirt, and he has lost his jacket, which is automatically alarming. I focus on the blood as I move my hand to cover his. It’s dried under his nails, and in the creases of his knuckles.

When I look up into his face, his eyes are not right. It’s not his normal dissociation; it’s something I have never seen before. Cave normally has control over his scarecrow, but this here, right now, is not Cave. This is all scarecrow—it has somehow managed to take over. I know Cave is in there somewhere; I just have to help him find his way out.

“You’re hurt,” I say.

I don’t expect an answer.

I can see the difference in the way he holds his body and in his shallow breathing. He simply grips my shoulder tighter.

The Scarecrow pulls me to my feet, and he isn’t rough, but he isn’t gentle either. My Cave wouldn’t be this hands-on with me, knowing that I’ve been hurt. There is now a darkness that sits beneath his skin, one that I can feel radiating off him.

“I’m okay,” I appeal to Cave, who I know is inside there somewhere. He would want to know, even if this version of him doesn’t care.

“You’re back,” Noa says from the doorway and rushes inside, stopping beside us. “Shit, you’re bleeding.”

Cave doesn’t move; he just stands there gripping me, and through our connection I can feel my version of him.

“Tell me you went after Steedy and he’s dead.”

Cave makes a noise of acknowledgment.

Noa doesn’t ask about Rowan because if Cave confirms he is dead, then somebody has to tell Valli. We may not have known her all that long, but anyone who has a soft spot for Cave belongs with us.