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And the boxes won’t stop unraveling. Monsters spill out of them in the form of rotting wolves and bears and squealing baby goats, mycelia holding me down in the forest, the native who thought I was Everly, the unearthed grave, Amani twirling in the snow, a dead girl in the shower, the whispering trees who tell me I’m home.

No. This isn’t my home. This will never be my home.

I get up. I can’t stay here. I know what Kincaid said, but I can’t trust him. Not until he gets me on that plane and breaks all of his NDAs.

And I’m not the type who can just sit around and wait and put all of the control in someone else’s hands.

What if Kincaid never emailed the airlines?

Don’t even think that, I tell myself, but I can’t help it.

The lodge feels like it’s looking inward right now, watching as I fight for agency.

And it doesn’t like it.

I grab my raincoat and put it on, taking a half-full water bottle and slipping it in my pocket, along with my wallet and passport, then run down the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Munawar asks, but he doesn’t follow.

No one follows.

I slip out the door and start walking up the path. The wind is strong, but the rain has stopped for now, and my pace is quick. I go past the lab and the north dorm until I hit the logging road, and then I start walking east. I keep my head down against the wind, trying not to get distracted by the forest. I can feel the pull of it, the trees swaying in the gusts, whispering my name, but I keep focused on keeping one foot in front of the other.

That’s how you escape. That’s how you get anywhere, one foot in front of the other.

I don’t really have much of a plan, but it’s better than sitting in my room and waiting for Kincaid to make things happen. I know that eventually, there will be a fork in the road. If I take the road to the right, it will lead to the peninsula and those…bears.

If I take the road to the left though, the one that snakes up the mountainside, it will take me to camp nine. The closest neighbors only sixteen kilometers up the road, however long that is. Is a logging camp really going to be of much help? Maybe. Maybe there’s reception there and they have phones. Maybe they have a truck that can handle the roads and take me to Campbell River. I have a credit card that has just enough on it to get me somewhere. Maybe they’ll be a better help than anyone at Madrona Lodge, Kincaid included.

God, I want to trust him. I want to with all my heart. But no matter what, he knows things that I don’t, and until we are equal and even, no secrets, then I’m going to have to keep him at a distance.

And if you get out of here tonight? If the loggers are of help?

Then I’ll email Kincaid and let him know I couldn’t wait. If he cares about me like he says he does, he’ll understand. Perhaps he’ll still help me. If he doesn’t though, I’ll figure it out. I always do.

Buoyed by this new sense of control and, dare I say, hope, I start walking faster. The wind isn’t as strong as it is on the water, but even so, the gusts push me along from time to time, as if the weather wants me to hurry too.

I round the corner, looking up at the magnificent lone maple amidst the cedar and hemlock, its leaves bright green and full, waving in the breeze.

I pause slightly, something about the look of the tree that’s troubling me.

That’s when I hear it.

At first, I think it’s just the wind, making strange noises through the trees.

Then I realize it sounds familiar.

A roar. A rumble.

An engine.

My heart sinks as I turn around to see an ATV racing toward me. I expect to see Kincaid behind the wheel, and if it’s him, I hope I can convince him to drive me to the camp.

But as it gets closer, I realize it’s not Kincaid.

In fact, it’s someone I’ve never seen before.

An older man with a thin face, thick bushy brows, long grey hair, and strange, piercing eyes.