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It was then she noticed the bit of white cloth still attached to the arrowhead, and her eyes narrowed.

Before she could remove the white cloth, Willa approached. “Did you catch him, Robbins?”

Grace shook her head. “You don’t see him in tow, do you?” She snatched the white cloth, then raised her knee and snapped the arrow shaft over it.

“Well, I like the energy,” Willa said.

Grace tossed the arrow pieces to the side, slyly slipping the cloth into a pocket.

“So,” Willa said, “what are we going to do to catch that villain? He destroyed my home.”

“Excuse me?” Grace frowned at Willa. “What happened to ‘he doesn’t have issue with my family’’?”

“He shot an arrow at my friend. That monster is going down.”

Grace smiled. “Friend, huh?” She’d started thinking of the two of them as friends, but Willa didn’t seem the kind to let go of a grudge easily, if ever.

“I know. Sounds ridiculous for me to befriend someone so dense, but there it is.” Willa turned and headed for the wheat field, swinging her scythe even before there was a stalk close enough to sever.

Willa’s words served as a small balm. Grace shook her head. If she’d thought a few weeks ago that James would be her enemy, Garrick Clairmont her admirer, and Willa her ally—no, friend—she’d have declared herself insane.

While Willa’s back was to her, Grace slid the white cloth out of her pocket and examined it.

There was writing on one side.

Tomorrow night,it read,where you find the Misguided Masked One.

Grace stuffed the cloth in her pocket and hurried to the field.

A note! The Rogue hadn’t been trying to kill her, he’d been sending her a letter. A thrill of relief inspired giddy giggles.

She cleared her throat, trying to hide the emotion.

What did this mean?

She was discombobulated from the whiplash of her vacillating beliefs about the Rogue. He was sweet, he was violent, he was James, he was so different.

Would it ever become clear what kind of man she was dealing with?

Could she trust a heart that ached at the thought of a Clairmont fighting against the life she wished she could have?

A Proclamation from our mayor:

Citizens of Fidara,

After another attack by the villainous Rogue, it has become essential to raise town spirits. Therefore, it is with a generous heart we announce a Day of Morale. Meet tomorrow morning in the town square.

Attendance is required. Nothing is more important than the state of our dear city.

Sadly, another one percent will be added to taxes to compensate for the cost.

I encourage any who know of the Rogue’s whereabouts or identity to speak up. He is creating such havoc and costing us much. He must be brought down.

The third decree, on the morning after the Rogue’s appearance at harvest, created a heavy atmosphere.

Of all the ridiculous, stupid things the mayor had done, this one felt the most empty-headed. What was the mayor playing at? He didn’t care about town morale. Was it an attempt to make life harder for the people? Was the mayor truly so blind to what would happen if the farmers didn’t get their harvest done in time? The mayor wanted the money as much as the rest of them needed it.

The number of active harvesters was the lowest it had been. The mayor had come to take some of the strongest of the farmers to set up for his “Day of Morale.”