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I don’t believe for a second this is about Blaire.

My gaze tracks their silhouettes as they recede into the fog, moving toward the deep, forgotten heart of the Blackwood forest—a place where no one goes at five in the morning unless they have something terrible to hide, or something monstrous to find.

Or a murder to commit.

A slow, wicked smile creeps back onto my face, the dark intrigue replacing my blind rage.

Why is she leading him deeper into the woods? What is she looking for, out here in the dark?

I step out from behind the tree, my knife held low at my side, and slip silently into the mist behind them, hunting them through the black, suffocating trees.

Twenty-Five

Bad Kind of Butterflies

HARMONY

5:45 AM

As I stare at the old well, I sink to my knees in the wet, muddy moss, the ancient, crumbling stones of the well rough beneath my trembling palms.

The freezing rain has tapered into a bone-chilling, persistent drizzle, but somehow the cold doesn’t bother me anymore. I’m completely numb, hollowed out from the inside by a crushing weight of grief and guilt that’s heavy enough to drag me straight into the earth.

The mist clings to the oaks like a veil, drowning the clearing in a spooky, suffocating calm.

I press my forehead against the cold, damp stone of the well, closing my eyes tight.

“I’m so sorry, Blaire,” I whisper into the dark, my voice cracking on her name.

A ragged sob tears up from my chest, shaking my entire frame as the tears finally spill over, hot and bitter against my freezing cheeks.

“I’m so fucking sorry…”

The image of her laughing face in high school flashes violently behind my eyelids—her bright smile, her dramatic flair, the way she could light up the gloomiest autumn day in Blackwood.

I should’ve been the one who tried to keep our bond alive after Noah died. I should’ve called her, texted her, wrote to her, begged her to come home, to stop hiding from the world.

And what did I do? I left her to fight her demons alone. I let her believe our friendship had faded into nothing. I built a wall around myself and left her to face the darkness of this town all by herself.

“I should’ve been there.” I weep, clutching the mossy stone until my knuckles ache. “If I had just reached out... if I hadn’t been so damn selfish and wrapped up in my own stupid trauma... you wouldn’t have been alone in those woods. We could’ve protected each other. I failed you, Blaire. You deserved a better friend. You deserved someone who cared.”

The silence of the woods swallows my confession, leaving only the soft drip-drip-drip of water falling into the black abyss of the well.

A heavy, warm coat is suddenly draped over my shivering shoulders.

I startle, snapping out of my dark trance as Xander crouches beside me in the mud.

He gives my arm a gentle, comforting squeeze, his face soft with apparent empathy in the dim, as the flickering beam of his cell phone dies, along with the flashlight.

“Hey.” His voice is a low, soothing murmur against the quieting storm. “Don’t do that to yourself, Harmony. You couldn’t have known what was going to happen tonight. None of this is your fault.”

I let out a shuddering breath, leaning my weary head against his shoulder for a brief, desperate second.

I’m so tired. Exhaustion has settled into every cell of my body—from running, from fighting, from fearing for my life, and now from the agonizing grief of losing the only best friend I ever had.

Just for a single breath, I let myself rely on another human being’s warmth.

I should’ve known better.