“He doesn’t want to be back. You saw it in his face, I know you did. He left us, Bree, after all that we’ve done to—” He stops short, twisting his head back the way we’ve come. “Shit. Erebus found our car.”

And then we’re off again, rushing through the forest. Over streams, doubling back over logs, zigging across deep loam, the only sound his breath and my own, loud in our ears.

Sel runs us another mile to a clearing that looks to be a part of some sort of ropes course. There’s a wooden sign nearby: CAMP ATKINSON. We must be on the grounds of one of those adventure retreats for tourists.

In the center of the clearing is an enormous oak, with metal foot- and handholds built into the trunk at intervals. At the top, nearly thirty feet in the air, is a wooden platform with rotting wood railings on all sides and a square opening just big enough for one person to fit through from below. The kind of structure built for team-building exercises.

Sel takes several steps back. “Hold on. I’m going to jump to the tree. Try and clear our trail.”

It’s got to be another fifty feet to the trunk. I’m certain he can make it on his own, but he’s never jumped this far with me on his back before. I have just enough time to squeak and clench my legs and arms around him before he speeds forward, jumping us both up in a long arc. The wide trunk shudders when we land, Sel’s fingers digging into the bark, but the tree holds. And then he’s climbing. At the top he pauses, clambers up on one side, and swivels so that the handholds are in front of me instead of him.

“Go.”

I climb the rest of the way up and onto the platform. It’s maybe ten by ten. On all four sides broken, weathered ropes hang limp from old hooks.

Sel climbs up after me and presses me down until I’m flat against the platform surface. He moves to the edge and crouches, peering through the canopy with eyes that can see much more than mine can. Light-footed, he makes his way back to me, a finger to his lips.

The wind whistles through the trees. A branch creaks to our left. This far out, in the shadow of the mountain, the woods are twilight dim, even though it’s day.

Nothing. I hear nothing.

No birds or insects, like they have fled from a predator in their homes.

Which means the woods are not empty.

“Briana.” Erebus’s baritone reaches us through the trees, and I thank every fiber of my being for not reacting to the sound. I know he’s listening for me. It’s what Sel would do. This is how Merlins hunt.

I release a slow, silent breath, and Sel stiffens.