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“What do we do?” Tatum whispers. “I can’t see anything other than grass and trees. And—” Her voice wobbles. “That stupid red light.”

“Hang on. Just let me look?—”

Then I see it.

There.

Just a tiny thing. About ten feet in front of us.

If not for the sun cutting through the branches overhead, I wouldn’t have noticed.

Just like before, with the light catching the tripwire, I spot it.

A bit of silvery rope nearly hidden in the grass.

Still holding Tatum against me, I scoop up a rock and hurl it at the rope.

It lands with a soft thump right beside it.

A moment later, with a quick whooshing sound, a large net explodes off the ground. It pulls into a sack-like shape, snapping up so it’s suspended about six feet in the air, its supports attached to a thick branch above it.

Now fully exposed, the sunlight shines dully off the net, making it evident just how dangerous the trap really is.

Tatum’s nails dig into my palm. She shudders. “Is that…”

“Yes.” A sick feeling settles in my stomach. Because the net isn’t really made from rope at all. It’s clear from the light reflecting on it that the material is some kind of metal instead.

“Get behind me,” I order quietly as I slowly advance forward. Not close enough to get within touching distance of the trap, but enough to confirm the material.

And upon closer inspection, it’s just what I feared.

A net made from razor-sharp wire. Wire that would be thick enough to cut someone badly. To leave them bleeding fromdozens of wounds as they hung helplessly above the ground, that damned camera watching everything.

“Erik.”It’s more whimper than whisper. “That net is made fromwire.”

“I know.” That sick feeling in my gut swells even bigger. The lingering nausea from the drugs surges, sending bile rising up my throat.

A trip wire was bad enough. So was the mysterious gunfire. But seeing this—another deadly trap—drives home just how fucked of a situation we’re really in.

We could have been caught in that net.

Would have been filmed by fuck-knows-who as we dangled there, bleeding out, every attempt to escape causing more injury.

Who’s responsible for this?

Why?

“We need to keep moving,” I tell her. “I don’t know if…” I trail off, hesitant to share the rest of my fear.

“In case they’re watching and come to finish us off,” Tatum finishes. She shudders again.

Yes. That’s what I was thinking.

With my attention split between the camera and the woods up ahead, I tug Tatum along with me, picking up our pace again.

Not too fast. Not knowing what else lies in store for us. But we need to get some distance from the trap. From the prying eye of the camera.

For the next five minutes or so, we walk in silence. And thankfully, we’re not met with any other unwelcome surprises. Just acres of thick woods and an unsettling silence.