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A silhouette against the fog, tall and broad-shouldered. The antlers of his mask rise above his head like a crown. Damiano. It has to be—I recognize the way he moves, fluid and deliberate, even in the darkness.

Ibolt, changing direction, heading now toward the maze. If I can reach it, I might be able to lose him in the twisting paths.

He whistles again, the sound sharper, more urgent. Signaling to Flint. Telling him I’m heading for the maze.

The entrance looms ahead, a dark mouth opening into deeper darkness. I plunge in without hesitation, immediately turning left, then right, navigating by memory and instinct.

The hedge walls rise around me, blocking out what little moonlight filters through the fog. I slow down, forced to feel my way forward, hands brushing against the dense foliage on either side. The scent of crushed leaves fills my nostrils as I push deeper into the labyrinth.

Right turn. Left turn. Straight ahead.

The slap of footsteps reaches me—not from behind, but from somewhere to my right. Through the hedge wall. Someone’s cutting through the maze, taking shortcuts I didn’t anticipate.

Flint. It has to be. Damiano would never damage his precious hedges.

I pick up speed, ignoring the way my lungs scream for more oxygen. Just a little farther. The center of the maze isn’t far now. If I can reach it first...

A figure steps out from a side path directly in front of me. The bone mask gleams in a flash of moonlight breaking through the fog. Flint. Hestands there for a moment, head tilted, the stance somehow both threatening and enticing.

I skid to a stop, changing direction instantly, doubling back the way I came. But I’ve only gone a few steps when I hear movement ahead. Damiano, approaching from the direction I just fled.

Trapped.

I glance around frantically, looking for another path, another escape route. There—a narrow gap between two hedge sections, barely visible in the darkness. I squeeze through, branches scratching my arms, tugging at my nightgown, catching in my hair.

I stumble into another path, momentarily disoriented. Which way leads to the center? Which way takes me deeper into the maze?

A twig snaps behind me. I spin around to find Flint emerging from the same gap I just squeezed through, his mask pushed up to reveal his face, those eyes gleaming with predatory intent.

“Running’s only making this more fun, princess,” he says, tone low and rough with desire.

Behind him, another masked figure appears. Damiano, his mask also lifted, expression hungry.

“Caught you,” Flint says, stepping closer.

I press my back against the hedge wall, feeling it give slightly. “Not yet,” I breathe, then throw my weight backward, pushing through the foliage into the adjacent path.

Branches scrape my skin, leaving burning trailsacross my shoulders, my thighs. My nightgown tears, the sound sharp in the quiet of the maze. I break through to the other side, stumbling but staying upright.

Only to find myself in the center clearing.

The stone bench gleams dully in the moonlight. The ground beneath my feet is soft with fresh growth—Damiano’s special plants covering what lies beneath. I pause for an instant, feeling the weight of the past weeks pressing down on me.

The ghosts of three men haunt this place. The memory of blood and fear and desperate survival.

But not tonight.

Tonight we take back the maze. Make new memories to bury the old ones.

Movement to my left, then my right. They’ve found me. My hunters, closing in from both sides.

I don’t run. Not this time. I stand my ground as they approach, these two men who’ve somehow become everything to me.

Flint reaches me first, his hand closing around my wrist, firm but not painful. “Got you,” he says, pulling me against him, his body radiating heat in the cool night air.

“We both do,” Damiano adds, stepping behind me, caging me between them.

I let my head fall back against Damiano’s shoulder, excitement thrumming through me. “So what happens now that you’ve caught me?”