Quickly, I turn on my side to face the wall, my heart pounding so hard, it feels like a bruise against my sternum. My bedroom door creaks.Dad stands in the doorway, his shadow spilling across my room. I squeeze my eyes tight and beg my heart to shush, convinced Dad will hear it.
Finally, he leaves and I allow myself to breathe again.
There are sounds in the bathroom—running water, a flushing toilet, a clearing throat. And then, the lights turn off.
All goes dark and quiet.
I remove my phone from beneath my pillow and check the messages in our group chat.
Jude: Estate security system is off.
Naomi: My parents are asleep.
Twig: I’m still waiting on mine.
I tap out a message with trembling fingers.
My dad finally went to bed.
But still, I don’t move.
I don’t dare.
For fifteen more minutes, I stay where I am, taking deep, calming breaths hoping they might get my heart to settle. When I can’t stand it for onesecond longer, I sit up slowly and slide the covers away. I remove a pair of winter gloves and a beanie from the front pocket of my hoodie, slide a backpack out from under my bed, slip the onyx into my pocket, and tiptoe into the hallway.
After Jude and I finished gathering weapons, I took it upon myself to learn which floorboards and stairs creaked and which ones didn’t. I step along the quiet ones now like a silent, one-person game of The Floor is Lava, making my way downstairs, where floodlights shine into our windows and the snow swirls outside.
I stop in front of our kitchen table, wondering if I should leave a note. But what would I say? How could I even begin to explain? And anyway, wouldn’t a note be conceding defeat? Or at the very least, giving it a foothold? For one blip of a second, I imagine it. Dad and the Calloways waking up in the morning. My bed empty. Twig’s bed empty. I give my head an aggressive shake, as if thrusting the image away. A note won’t be necessary. If the plan works—and itwillwork—I’ll be home before Dad wakes up. So, too, will my missing classmates, including Ivy Winslow. I have no idea how we’ll explain any of it, but at the moment, that is the least of my worries.
Right now, I must take one step at a time.
Step one, get to the estate.
I lace up my boots, put on my coat, and send a message to the group.
On my way.
As quietly as possible, I open the door, thankful for the wind and snow. Visibility is awful, which is exactly what I need. The mobile command trailer sits along the drive, lit from within like a lantern in the storm. Empty folding tables shudder in the wind while the tarp snaps overhead. After the nonstop activity of the day, the nearly deserted grounds feel ominous.
I stick to the shadows, ducking beneath trees and hedgerows, slinking around the manor until the command trailer is no longer visible. Then I run, high-stepping through the snow until I reach the back terrace, where Jude is waiting.
He quickly ushers me inside the antechamber.
Snow clings to my hair and eyelashes as he shuts the doors, sealing out the roar of wind. I brush powder from my coat while Jude peers through the glass panes to make sure nobody followed me.
A pair of red gas cans and a large duffel bag sit on the floor near the towering Christmas tree. The bag is unzipped, revealing an arsenal of makeshift weapons inside. A machete, a pruning saw, therusted sickle, a collection of wooden stakes. Homemade explosives. Lighters. Four blowtorches. And Jude’s bow, along with a quiver of iron-tipped arrows coated in salt and ash, just in case it’s helpful.
“The last K-9 unit left hours ago,” Jude says.
“That’s good,” I reply, wiping away the last of the snow.
All of this would be a lot trickier with dogs present.
I slip off my backpack.
Jude transfers some of the weapons from the duffel, along with several explosives, and begins running through the plan. “Once I’m inside, I’ll send a message,” he says. From his phone, which should work just fine, as he won’t be combusting into flame. “As soon as Vorat leaves, I’ll send another.”
Which will be Twig, Naomi, and Harper’s cue.
