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Grace rubbed at her forehead. She knew the answer before she’d finished asking herself.

Proof wasn’t enough. She hadn’t caught the Rogue, hadn’t convinced him to stop. No, in fact, she’d been the one caught, and by Garrick Clairmont.

And this note also proved her ineptitude. The Rogue had figured out it was she who’d left a message for him.

Grace pushed back from her desk, stood, and began pacing. What to do?

Her parents. She should go to her parents.

But Grace kept walking the well-worn path on her floor.

She could not give her parents reason to doubt her as a Protector. She simply couldn’t. The future of Fidara depended on her being flawless.

With a heavy sigh and a growl of frustration, Grace plopped into her desk chair, snatched the new stationary she’d bought, dipped a quill in ink, and penned a response.

To the Forest Frequenter,

Stop what you are doing. It will only bring disaster.

With urgency,

The Voice of Reason

The next night, after an anxious day of farming, she slipped out her window, through the night, into Sherwood Forest.

Grace crouched in the branches of an oak overlooking the copse of maple trees within Sherwood Forest, her brown riding cloak tucked around her, and scanned the surrounding trees. She’d watched carefully for signs of Garrick Clairmont following her as she’d stolen across roads and fields. She was fairly certain he wasn’t on her tail tonight.

The dense canopy of the maple grove blocked all but thin pinpricks of moonlight. This and the relative shortness of the maples compared to the oaks and beeches had kept Grace from visiting the area often. She far preferred scaling the tallest trees with light to aid in the practice.

This lack of familiarity had misled her. The red maple grove was darker than Grace had anticipated considering the brightness of the waxing gibbous moon. The Rogue had chosen the perfect meeting spot for hiding his identity. It may help Grace hide as well, but it was a detriment to her plan.

She’d tucked the letter she’d written in a nook on a maple tree in such a way that the Rogue would be facing her when he found it. If, by some miracle, his face wasn’t covered, she might identify him. If he came masked, she’d take in what detail she could.

But with such shadow beneath the maple leaves, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to make out anything even should the Rogue be careless.

All she could do was hope.

Grace had waited in the tree for half an hour when she heard heavy footsteps approaching. Could he be any louder? If this was Jonathan, she’d never let him hear the end of teasing. A Protector knew how to prowl silently.

Excitement prickled Grace’s neck, her pulse racing. She ached to turn to see the man but forced herself to keep still. Movement risked alerting him to her presence, whether with the creaking of the branch beneath her or the shifting of her orange braid.

The Rogue clomped into view, verdure cloak secured, hood up. The fabric shifted with his movements, different sections of the enchanted cloth coming in and out of clear view. The enchanted cloak didn’t hide a person in motion very well.

He scanned the maple grove, first quickly, then again, taking time to examine the trees in the darkness.

Grace smiled. He was looking for her.

As he started to wander through the grove, searching behind trunks, he turned. As she’d feared, with the added cover of a hood, the shadows were too dark. She barely discerned the shape of a cloth over his nose and mouth and a mask above it.

Watching wouldn’t be enough to identify him.

To Grace’s surprise, a thrill raced down her spine. She ought to be frustrated, but a sense of eager anticipation was growing. This was her chance to do something other than sit. At a party or in a tree, what was the difference? She was sick of it.

She quietly shimmied down the trunk, getting closer to the ground for an easy pounce.

The toe of her shoe touched down on the branch below and a creak echoed through the trees.

Grace stilled, her blood chilling even as sweat beaded on her forehead. She couldn’t see him, couldn’t tell what was happening, so she listened. Her only solace was the darkness and the lack of footsteps.