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I rub my thumb over the pebble’s glossy surface. “The current that runs through here can be strong, especially after a hard rain. The assumption that she came from upstream mostly came down to her injuries. Scrapes and bruises, like she’d hit the rocks on her way down.”

He hedges. “Maybe she was dumped?”

My mind goes to the other option for sex trafficking in Forsyth, although no one would call it that. It’s far more upscale and secretive than whatever the Counts could pull off with their Scratch whores. I wouldn’t even know it existed if it weren’t for Wicker.

Mayfield.

“I’m more interested in what’s near here,” I say, pulling out my phone. With a couple of taps, I have the map pulled up, waving Eugene over. “See here? That’s where we are.”

He looks, eyebrows knitting together. “There’s nothing out here but forest and random ponds.”

“Look closer,” I press, zooming out. “Right there, in the corner.” It’s easily ten miles away, and it doesn’t matter that their land has no river access. A girl who was running hard enough? She could make it here.

“Baron territory,” he realizes, eyes hardening.

I nod. “It’s where they do the hunt.”

He wipes the sweat from his forehead, looking bothered. “It doesn’t make sense. Why would they hunt her only tore-hunt her?”

“I don’t think they did.”

He huffs, swatting at a bug. “Explain.”

“The Baron King…” I begin, leveling him with a look. “He has this real hard-on for the old ways. He doesn’t like guns. He doesn’t have a digital footprint. That time I was in the House of Night, everything was on paper.”

Finally following, he snaps his fingers. “But Arianette had a tracker.”

“The Barons wouldn’t tag their prey,” I conclude, tucking my phone back into my pocket. “There’s no glory in a rigged hunt.” I’m not sure what I was expecting to find out here. A footpath? Tire tracks?

Frustratingly, there’s nothing.

On the trek back to the car, I broach a difficult topic. "We wouldn’t think less of you if you just ran. None of us. The Dukes, Lex and Wick. Especially me.”

Ballsy tosses me a glare. “Innocent men don’t run.”

Which is a nice sentiment, but… “There’s a lot of innocent men who spend a lifetime in prison for crimes they didn’t commit.”

He stops in his tracks, turning to me with tired eyes. “Back home, our trainer has this saying. Some men hit rock bottom and bounce back up. But others hit rock bottom and ask for a shovel.” He claps me on the shoulder, not realizing that it's the mention of Pauly that makes me stiffen—not the words. “I’m not a digger, Pace. I told Verity I’d do everything I could to find Stella, and I can’t do that if I’m hiding like a little bitch.”

“No one wants you free from this more than Verity,” I insist, searching his eyes. “Why are you so hell-bent on going down with the ship?”

His shoulders sink, face falling. “I think…” Reaching up, he grasps a fistful of his shirt, right over his heart. “I think I love her, Pace. I was too chickenshit to say it, but I felt it, and she’s out there right now, thinking she belongs to nobody. But she does.” He exhales, asking, “I mean, what if it were Verity?”

This is easy to answer. “If it were Verity, I’d burn this whole fucking city to the ground to find her.”

“Yeah.” Ballsy nods, glancing back at the forest. “You’re a Prince, you can do that. But I’m just a nobody who makes it easy to pin this shit on.”

He’s not wrong about that. Names, blood, and legacy control this city, and as far as I know, Ballsy is a regular soldier. It’s a fucking tough pill to swallow and it’s on my mind as we walk the rest of the way to the car.

“Just promise,” he eventually says, “that no matter what happens with me, you’ll keep looking for her.”

I came out here to help him get his mind off his troubles, but I don’t think it worked. For me, all I can see now are the thick woods and thorny brambles. The rushing, punishing water. Whatever that Hexley girl was running from was bad enough, but surviving the forest too? Those are shit odds.

Any girl that makes it out of here alive has to be made of steel. But I know what it’s like to need hope, to be stuck in a dark pit of despair waiting for the light to shine in. If Ballsack needs me to be that light, then fuck, I’ll be it.

“No one,” I assure, “East or West, will stop until Stella St. James is found.”

I just hope this is a promise I can keep.