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“It’s Macy,” Fin added. “Her throat was cut.”
My heart dropped into my stomach, and images of Liam with his throat slit flitted through my mind’s eye, but even through the dread and panic, an idea formed in my head. The minds of the dead might not be completely out of my reach. I had never tried to skim the mind of a dead person, not even Mother, when I had visited her in the catacombs. I didn’t even know if it was possible, but I had to try.
I gripped Fin’s wrist. “Show me,” I said, the two words a command, and used his arm for leverage to pull myself to my feet.
Fin lowered his chin in silent assent.
I dropped the blanket and followed Fin and Tick to the edge of camp where Macy lay sprawled on the ground, the forest floor beneath her saturated with her blood. My senses of the world muffled as I knelt beside my guard and gathered her cool hand in both of mine. I hadn’t known her well, but I had genuinely liked her, and Garath had trusted her.
“May you find peace in the next life,” I murmured, bowing my head.
I closed my eyes, focusing on the wispy threads ofsomethingI felt within Macy. A chaotic jumble of images ghosted through my mind, but everything was warped and fractured, tainted by the last remnants of her desperation to live. I couldn’t make sense of any of it.
Pressing my lips together, I released Macy’s hand. If she had seen who attacked our camp, she took that information to the grave.
Blowing out a breath in frustration, I sat back on my heels and scrubbed my hands over my face.
“Come on,” Fin said, gripping my elbow. “Let’s get to cover so I can search telepathically.”
I glared as I rose to my feet. “You haven’t done that already?” I snapped.
Fin narrowed his eyes right back at me. “I searched for Liam when we first arrived, but I can’t protect you if my focus is elsewhere.”
“I don’t care about myself!” I stared at him, dumbfounded that I had to explain this. “I care about Liam. Wehaveto find him.”
Fin pulled me closer, his grip on my arm tightening. “And how are you going to find him if you’re dead, Del? Tell me that.”
My mouth opened, but the retort caught in my throat. My chin trembled, my rage evaporating. “He must have been so scared,” I said, choking on a sob. “And I wasn’t here.” The tears flowed freely, guilt consuming me from the inside, and I sucked in a shaky breath. “He needed me, and I—I wasn’t here.”
“Shh,” Fin murmured, pulling me close to his body and engulfing me in an unyielding embrace. “We’ll find him.” Fin pulled back enough that he could see my face and meet my eyes. “Wewillfind him. I promise,” he repeated, speaking the words with such conviction that I had to believe him. It was that or give up right now. Just collapse onto the ground and lose my will to go on.
Fin blinked, his focus shifting to the trees. He released me and claimed my hand, pulling me back into the heart of the abandoned camp.
Tick stood near the dying campfire, her hackles raised and a low growl rumbling within her as she stared at something on the ground. It looked like a small metal can.
“Stay here.” Fin released my hand and jogged ahead, crouching near the object but not touching it.
I sniffled, hugging my middle. “What is it?”
“A gas grenade.” Fin narrowed his eyes and scanned the camp again. “I knew it,” he muttered. “Slavers use them to incapacitate their targets so they can take captives with minimal loss of life.”
I covered my mouth with one hand. “Slavers?”
“This is a good thing,” Fin said, standing. “Better than Ferals or bandits.”
I shook my head, my brow furrowing. “How?” I squeaked. The single word was all I could manage while holding in the sobs.
Finishing his scan of the camp, Fin turned his face to me, his expression grim. “Slavers are predictable. Withoutlivingcaptives, they have nothing to sell. Their priority is to capture. Their second priority is to keep theirmerchandisealive.” He reclaimed my hand, his hold gentle, and bent his neck to bring his face closer to my eye level. “We will find him,” he said again and pointed to the wagon wheel tracks in the earth. “We have their trail.”
My thoughts spun, spiraling out of control. Images of Liam in a cage, of him hurt and dying, flashed through my mind.
“Del?”
My breaths came faster, my heart suddenly racing.
In my mind, I could hear Liam calling out for me. Crying. Screaming. His face was bloody. His skull was caved in. His throat was cut. He was crushed. Drowned. Burned. Suffocated. Flayed. He died over and over again in my head, dozens of different ways, and each time he was scared, crying out for me, and I wasn’t there to comfort him.
I couldn’t catch my breath.
