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London’s already scared of me, and she doesn’t need to see this side of me or the level of violence I’m about to unleash. She may soften my heart merely by existing, but this guttural rage deep within me will only be satiated by one thing right now.

Killing Nigel.

He’s been watching me for years, studying me and my twin and gaining the upper hand in a war I didn’t even know I was in. And so far, he’s won every fucking battle.

A knot forms in my stomach as I venture into the night, mirroring the tight grip around my heart. The plan we discussed was to leave at first light to scour the caves, find where Nigel is hiding, and save Jade.

All well-intended, desperate, and fucking stupid.

Because I know exactly where Jade is and where Nigel is hiding her, and it’s not in a cave. That’s what Nigel wants us to believe. Knowing Nigel, he is much closer, in a more obvious place. For once, just once, I need to outsmart this kid.

I head south, the same path we took to get here. I head straight to the lake site and make it to the water just as the first beams of sun glimmer in the sky. The clouds have parted, and the sun rises over the lake in a shimmer of pink, reflecting perfectly over the water. My lips tug into a smile, knowing Maison’s with me right now, helping me from his grave.

It was cloudy for days before this, so the sun shining… it has to be him.

And it’s silent… blissful silence.

I watch and listen for a few minutes, ready for anything. I won’t get caught like I did last time… the night Maison died. The early morning mist from the lake snakes its way toward the campsite. I slowly walk toward the shelters and see a slight hiss from the burning embers that blends in with that mist.

I almost miss it.

I bend over and place my hand on the ash. It’s warm between my fingers… and wet.

Someone’s been here and went to great lengths to hide it. I stare at the ash on my hand and then at the shelter in front of me, and unsurprisingly, it’s empty. So I walk toward the other shelter that’s half-fallen and toppled over.

A wave of shock washes over me when I come across Jade’s lifeless form, her eyes shut, her hands bound tightly, and her face resting on the icy snow.

Similar to how I left London.

Her eyes shoot open—blood red, beaten, and black.

“Fuck, Jade.” I crawl in to get to her and unbind her mouth, not even bothering to look around me.

She can barely whisper, and her eyes are swollen shut. “He has her, Micah,” she mumbles.

My blood freezes as I pull up her shirt to check out the rest of her body. There are bruises and cuts all over her.

“Motherfucker,” I grit out, and my stomach tenses at seeing those marks on her. Again, not all that dissimilar to the little bruises I gave London.

The parallels are uncanny.

Jade’s bruises are black and purple against her ivory skin, which is cut up with tiny incisions all over her body.

Hundreds of them, like tiny paper cuts.

Not enough to make her bleed out, but enough to mark and torture her. This was meticulous. Nigel took his time doing this to her; he fucking enjoyed it. The sight of it even makes me squirm.

“What a sick motherfucker,” I breathe out, then that little swirl of hypocrisy settles in my gut. This kind of sickness stems from something much deeper than just mere hunger or revenge. I know because I can identify it.

Identify with it.

I run my hands over her eyebrows, checking for a fever. Her body is scorching. Jade moans from the ground, trying to tell me something.

Fuck, she’s bad. Like really fucking bad. He did a number on her.

I immediately cut off the wire around her wrists. She’s so out of it that she doesn’t move and her face stays stuck in the mud. “Jade, you’re going to be fine. I’ll get you out of here.” That’s the most important thing right now. Destroying the guy who did this to her will have to wait. I need to get her back to Thomas.

I turn my head toward the entrance of the broken shelter, searching for Nigel, who is nowhere to be seen.