“Thanks for being cool, Amber. Milo, I notice that you didn’t say anything just there, which might mean that you’re mad, or it might mean you’re just being your usual quiet self. I hope you’re not mad, man. I’ll see you in a minute. We can hug it out.” He hung up.

Ronnie pocketed the phone, and turned to Amber and Milo. “Looks like Hell Night can begin.”

“Yes, it does,” Amber said quietly.

“I’m not hugging him,” said Milo.

“So that’s it?” Jesper asked. “One phone call and now you can bring me to Naberius? That’s the signal? You’re killing me! Don’t you understand? You’re killing me!”

“I said the same thing to you when we first met,” said Amber.

“Is that what this is?” Jesper asked, eyes narrowed. “Payback for how I treated you? Is this some kind of petty revenge? Then maybe you’d want to beat me, before you hand me over? Well? Want to beat the old man, to make him regret ever messing with you? Hmm? Maybe crack some ribs, break my nose, blacken my eyes. Eh? Would that make you feel better? Would that make you feel like heroes?”

“Why does everyone keep calling us heroes?” Milo muttered.

“Then beat me!” Jesper roared. “Cripple me! Kick my head in! Kill me! If I’m going to die, then at least have the fortitude to do it yourselves!”

“Like you were going to?” Austin asked quietly.

Amber enjoyed seeing the look on Jesper’s face, caught between anger and guilt and shame. It was a beautiful sight.

“We don’t know how long the Hounds’ radar will take to right itself,” said Milo, eyes on the sky as the sun dipped to the horizon, “so we better do this now. Amber, you should probably get the key.”

Amber nodded. It was her idea, after all. Her plan. It had sounded so easy when she’d first uttered the words. So simple. Kill Jesper. He deserved it. He more than deserved it. And yet here they were, about to deliver an evil old man to his death, and she couldn’t even look him in the eye. She took a breath, a deep one, and Kelly squeezed her hand before letting go. Amber slipped into the Charger, opened the glove box, and reached in for the key.

A cold feeling blossomed in her chest and spread quickly outwards. It drained the blood from her face.

She hunched down, dug both hands in, pulling out maps and booklets and spare ammunition for Milo’s gun.

“The key’s gone,” she said. No one heard. She got out of the car. “The key’s gone,” she said again.

They looked at her. Milo frowned. “What?”

She stepped away while he searched. No one spoke.

Milo stood. His hands were empty. “That kid,” he said. “The kid with the birthmark who stole the gun.”