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I keep going, blood pounding in my ears.

Blood on my hands. Heather’s blood on—

Stop that.

I will cut you open, and I will gut you.

That’s what Patrice did. Exactly what she did. Cut Heather open and gutted her.

I don’t understand.

Tears prick my eyes, which fill until I can’t see and I have to blink to clear them. Blood and tears and snot run down my face.

None of that. Break down later. I need all my senses and all mysenseto get out of this forest.

Just keep—

I stumble over something on the path. I’ve been so hyperaware of what’s ahead—as much as I can see it in this goddamn darkness—that I haven’t looked down, and I’ve tripped over a root or a branch or…

An arm. I’ve tripped over an outstretched arm. An arm with a worn friendship bracelet around the wrist.

Patrice’s arm. The bracelet Heather gave her years ago.

That’s when I see blood. It covers the hand, and I follow it up her arm to see her lying on her stomach, limbs splayed.

“Patrice?”

What the fuck are you doing? Run!

I step over her hand and then turn around to walk backward, continuing along the path as I keep my gaze on her. There’s more blood spattering the undergrowth and on her light shirt and a cut on her collar, dripping blood.

She’s hurt.

She didn’t kill Heather. She’s another victim of whoever did.

Patrice groans, and I move forward. I’m about to drop to my knees beside her when I see her other hand, the right one stretched out with something lying right beside it.

Aknifelying right beside it. A hunting knife with its blade coated in blood.

“Nic?” Patrice mumbles.

Her head rises. “Nic? Is that you?”

I don’t answer. I just take a slow step back.

“Please,” she whispers. “I’m hurt. Help me.”

Trap!

My brain screams the word so loud I expect her to hear it.

“Nic? Please?”

Her gaze locks with mine as her fingers inch toward the knife handle.

“Nic? Help me.”

Her fingertips graze the knife. I wheel and run.