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Of all the things I could have lost, why did it have to be those? I’d rather have lost my food.

I want to go home, but that doesn’t feel like the right answer. I’m scared. It’s that simple. What if I end up like Tiger? What did he even do to end up like that?

When I reach my bag, I dig around for something to eat. I stuffed food into my bag, but I’m already running out. I’ll have to get fish from the river or find a town to get food from. Problem is, I don’t have any money and that’s what everyone uses to get things outside of our village.

“Don’t start worrying yet, Rae,” I tell myself as I pull out the loaf of bread that’s beyond stale. It’s wrapped in a cloth, so I unwrap it to take a chunk off and eat it for breakfast. I watch the river flow by, and decide that for lunch, I will catch a fish. I know how; I do it all the time at home. The issue is I don’t have any of my tools, so I will have to fashion something from whatever I find out here.

I wrap the bread back up and tuck it at the bottom of my bag. My fingers brush over something small and cold.

The item that Tiger gave me.

I don’t know what it is or why it’s important, even though I’ve stared at it for hours. I have a feeling that if whoever killed Tiger knew that I had it, they’d really be looking for me.

I grasp it in my hand and pull it out. It can’t be more than two inches. It’s thin. Plastic. It just looks like a small rectangle, except for the little button on the side that doesn’t do anything when you press it. I could toss it in the river. Be done with it forever. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them I don’t know what they’re talking about. But what if this could somehow lead good cops to the people who killed him? I’m not sure how this little thing could do that, but throwing it away doesn’t feel right. So I stuff it back into the bottom of my bag. I think I’ll need it at some point. Tiger gave it to me for a reason, and it’s the least I can do for him.

He’s dead, and this could be something that helps find his killer.

The thought has my chest aching.

Tiger is dead.

I’ve known him since I was a little girl. He was like a brother to me; close in a way no one else is. Now he’s gone, and all I can picture is his lifeless, pale body on his kitchen floor surrounded by blood. The thought makes me dizzy, so I push it from my mind and just hope he is at peace, wherever he is.

I walk for a while, my legs sore and cramping from overuse, not drinking enough water, and not sleeping well, but I keep going because I have to. I don’t have a choice. When I’m hungry again, I keep going until my stomach starts to make noise, which just happens to be around a shallow part of the river. That’s when I look for a stick I can turn into a spear.

It takes me a few tries, but eventually I get one. I clean it properly before starting a fire to cook it. It’s not a big fish, but it’s nice to have something that’s hot and not bread.

After eating, I keep going. I stop a few times to rest or drink water, but that’s it. Once, I swear I hear something in the woods, but when I look, nothing is there. An animal could be following me, but it doesn’t seem likely. Not here.

The feeling comes back a few more times, but eventually it goes away altogether. Not long after that, I reach a human-made bridge with bright red railings that passes over the river. I’m not sure if I should cross it or keep going in the direction I was going. I’ve never been this far before, so I don’t know where either path will take me, but I can safely assume that going over the bridge will lead me to people.

What I do know is that I can’t keep going like this. Food is scarce. I’m exhausted. I’m in pain. There is no end in sight.

Across that bridge, someone could help me, or at least point me in the direction of where I need to go to get the help I need.

So, I cross it.

Chapter Four

Pierce

“So, what do we know?” I ask. “Let’s go through it.”

Forge sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. He does it so often I’m surprised there is still hair there at all.

We walk the path we think Raewyn Forester took when she left Theodore “Tiger” Gendron’s house.

What we are assuming is her scent was still strong in the house, like burnt oranges. Clearly she was distressed. We followed the scent outside into the woods, but lost it almost immediately. A scent won’t stick around that long outside, but we’ll know for sure if it’s hers when we get inside her house—which is what we are on the way to do, now that we finally have a warrant.

“She was seen heading toward the victim’s house on the morning of the murder. There is a female omega scent there that likely belongs to her. The basket that was found on the floor was identified as the one she uses to deliver food to the homes. That one specifically belonged to Gendron. She hasn’t been seen since, and never reported a thing about the victim.”

“Don’t forget the call we just received,” I say.

“I was getting to it,” Forge grumbles. “Captain said a witness came forward, saying they saw her leave Gendron’s home and head back toward her own. They didn’t leave a name because they said they knew they weren’t supposed to be on the property because it’s private.”

“It’s possible she’s hiding in the woods,” I add. “Or in her house somehow. One of the villagers…”

“Possible but unlikely. A friend checked the place out. Said it was empty.”