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She’d made it past the wards and was only a couple minutes from the forest edge when she heard the snap of a branch. At first, she groaned at her sloppy stealth, but when she glanced at her feet, there was no twig.

She hadn’t made the sound.

Grace jerked her head up, scanning the surrounding trees.

Jonathan?

Of course not. She’d imagined the Rogue. Maybe she’d imagined the snap too.

Snap.

Grace turned toward the sound, listening more closely. She recognized the heavy rustle of bushes and clomping footsteps getting closer.

She darted to the nearest tree and shimmied into its branches.

If only she were wearing her verdure cloak, she would have disappeared into the beech leaves. As it was, her hair, bright as a tangerine, would drastically stand out. But Grace hadn’t brought the cloak, hadn’t dared. Explaining why she, Grace Robbins, had been in the forest would be easier than explaining how the Rogue was alive again.

Besides, it would have been hard to convince Jonathan to hang up his cloak with her own cloak fastened around her neck.

So Grace was left to wait and watch from several feet above eye level, trying to keep her hair out of view.

The sight of Willa Leroux and Garrick Clairmont plodding through the forest sent her heart into an angry gallop.

Her discarded suspicion that Garrick was following her reared its head again.

“I saw something about here,” Willa said.

Grace pressed closer to the trunk of the tree.

“I don’t know, Willa,” Garrick said. “Most people don’t come into the forest.” He searched the area around him. “It was probably a deer. I think we ought to leave.”

“It couldn’t have been. I’m sure I saw a human in the trees over here.”

“It was dark. There was little moon.”

Dark? Moon? It was the morning. Were they talking about some other time?

Willa folded her arms and glared at Garrick.

Grace flinched back. Willa was short enough she had to look up at a sharp angle when talking to her cousin and might glimpse Grace in the trees.

“I know what I saw. It was a man in a green cloak.”

Grace inhaled sharply, then clamped her mouth shut.

“Green cloak?” Garrick sounded concerned. And he would. The Rogue was the Clairmonts’ arch nemesis.

Willa sighed. “I know the forest is green, but I swear, it was a man in a cloak.”

Garrick cursed. “My father will be ballistic if he hears about this. He won’t let me rest until he and I track the man down.” He began shaking his head. “It would take an idiot to risk such a thing. I think you should just forget it. It can’t be. Better not to waste our time.” Garrick turned on his heel and marched away.

Willa huffed. “I know what I saw,” she called as she stomped after him.

Grace waited for a few minutes, then climbed down from the tree, her heart racing.

Willa had seen the Rogue. Grace wasn’t imagining it.

A smile spread. Could it still be Jonathan?! Why hadn’t he gone to the fortress?