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“That witch scares me. I have no interest in being anywhere near her.”

Ares chuckles. “How about we both take Kayla on a tour? You can explain what goes on here, while I make sure everyone’s areas are shut down.”

Ares offers me his hand, and as he helps pull me to my feet, I realize I am a lot drunker than I anticipated.

Chapter Six

Ares

My friends think I have a moral compass. But I don’t have morality; I have rules. I follow them because they’re logical, not because they’re right. Consent is a rule. Safety protocols are rules. I don’t break those, which makes people think I’m ethical. But I’d follow any set of rules.

My morality is a performance, and I’m a talented actor.

I watched her arrive hours ago on the security monitors behind the bar, the way I watch everyone who crosses the bridge. Most people hesitate at the gate. They see the clown, read the sign, and take a step backward. Something deep inside them tells them to turn around and never come back.

Kayla didn’t hesitate, instinctively deciding she wanted to be here. She scanned the alley as she walked inside, noting the exits. I filed her heightened awareness away for safekeeping.

Vero now holds his arms wide, explaining the alley as if she didn’t walk through there hours ago. He points out the food vendors and gift stalls, while Kayla listens attentively. That tells me something too. She could shut him down, but instead, she encourages him. She’s gathering information and is smart enough to know that Vero, when offered the right mix of space and attention, will give it to her.

I walk slightly behind them; it provides me with a better vantage point to read her body language.

“Okay, so during the day this is all just, you know, themed. Spooky fun, and families love it. But at night . . .” Vero spins on his heel mid-stride, walking backward to face her. “It completely transforms into a different island with totally different rules.”

“What kind of rules?” Kayla asks.

Vero’s face lights up the way it does when someone hands him exactly what he wanted. “Okay, listen up.” He holds up a finger. “Everyone invited after dark gets a wristband. The color of your wristband tells the staff who you belong to.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Some of the guys have their own color, like Clay is black, which is fitting for his soul⁠—”

“Vero,” I caution.

He blinks at me. “What?”

“Stay on point.”

“Right, yes, the point is the wristband tells everyone on the island who your hunter is, what level you signed up for, and your level of consent. It’s a system. Ares built most of it, actually.” He throws that last part at me without breaking stride, like he’s proud of it on my behalf. “And the chases.” Vero stops walking entirely this time, turning to face her fully. “Those are my favorite things to talk about. You run and we hunt you. Different people specialize in different things. I’m more psychological—I mess with your head before I even get close—but some are purely about the chase. Cornfield, cemetery, wherever.”

Kayla looks back at me. “Do you do chases?”

“Among other things,” I say. If I were truthful, I would tell her I haven’t done a chase in a long time—they stopped serving a purpose.

She holds my gaze for another beat, then turns back to Vero.

“So cryptic. He’s been like that for years, by the way.” Vero’s voice drifts into background noise as I pay closer attention to Kayla, who is scanning everything as we pass. To some, it would look like she is taking it all in, and she probably is, but she is also mapping exits. Just like she did in the alley. Yet she is still not afraid, and that makes me want to know everything about her.

Clay always gives himself away; he doesn’t sneak up. His heavy boots thump and the static from his radio buzzes.

“What the fuck is she doing here?”

He speaks in his usual abrupt manner, as if the answer is already wrong, regardless of your response. He stops a few feet away, arms crossed, eyes locked on Kayla, glaring like she’s something that’s crawled onto his island without permission just to piss him off.

Vero stills, and Kayla turns around slowly.

Clay’s energy doesn’t seem to register as a threat to her—it doesn’t even seem to be a mild inconvenience.

“I was invited,” Kayla answers flatly before Vero or I can answer.

“By who?” Clay demands, and Vero raises his hand with a smirk.

“By me.”