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He pins me against the ground, his hand pressed over my mouth. When I flick my gaze up to him, I only see a grey Halloween mask, some grimacing demon, and my whole bodygoes rigid. It’s nothing like the mask he wore fifteen years ago, but it still somehow takes him, instantly, from Sawyer to Sawyer Caldwell, the Fat Camp Killer.

I whimper against his glove, and he holds a finger up to the demon’s mouth.

“Mrs. Hensner!” Baro’s voice drifts through the forest, his words punctuated by crashes of underbrush. “Come on out! There’s no need for you to run.”

I shake my head at Sawyer, my eyes wide. He gives me one small nod, then holds his finger to his mouth again. I get the message:Stay quiet.

He pulls his hand away from me.

For a moment I just stare up at him, shivering in the damp. Then he slides his arm around my waist and slowly pulls me to standing. Baro cracks a branch; it’s followed a second later by a sharp, whispered, “Fuck.”

Sawyer gestures for me to follow him, and then he moves carefully through the thick forest, stepping in patches of rain-drenched ferns. I keep one hand against his back like I need to balance myself, and I step where he steps, my heart thundering in my chest.

“Edie!” Baro shouts, but he sounds further away.

Sawyer stops and turns toward me, catching my wrist as he does. His eyes glint behind the mask, fierce and glittering, and my head spins at the memory of the last time I’d seen him in a mask. He looked at me the same way then, although I hadn’t recognized it for what it was:

Concern.

He slides the mask up to the top of his head.

“Who is that?” he says, so soft I lean in to hear him.

“S-scott,” I stammer out, then shake my head. “My h-husband. Someone he sent?—”

Sawyer’s eyes darken. “Is he going to hurt you?”

There’s an unyielding darkness in the way he asks thequestion, and I am suddenly, painfully aware that the way I answer will determine what happens to that man.

Your husband is worried about you.

No, he’s not. My ex-husband is almost certainly not worried about me. He’s worried I’ll tell people what he’s done.

He wants me gone.

“Not him,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “But he’ll tell Scott where I am, and Scott?—”

Rage flares in Sawyer’s face. It’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen.

“He won’t,” Sawyer says, “tellScottanything.”

He spits out Scott’s name like it’s a curse, and I tremble. Because I know what Sawyer’s going to do.

And, even though it makes me sick to my stomach, I know that I’m not going to stop him.

“Edie!”

Baro’s voice cuts through the forest. And it’s closer now.

Sawyer shoves the mask back down over his face and points to his left. When he moves, I move, snaking through the trees. He’s impossibly quiet. I make noise, but not much. Even so, every crack, every rustle, makes me freeze.

And then we come to a creek, swollen from the rain. Sawyer leans down and murmurs, his voice muffled slightly from the mask.

“Do you still have your phone?”

I nod, not bothering to ask how he would know I had it in the first place. I don’t need to.

“Then time yourself. Follow this creek for eight minutes. At eight minutes, you’ll be near a clearing with an old church. That’s where I live.”