It would be easy enough for him to seal the entrance and abandon her to her fate. But he didn’t. Wren could have cried with relief when he turned out the lights and stepped away from the ladder. “Quickly,” he said.

The sound of voices suddenly quieted.

“What was that?” another voice asked. Suddenly, Wren was thrown fifty feet above her body, tears burning in her eyes. She would know that voice anywhere.

Una.

“What?” said Hannah. “I didn’t hear a thing.”

“That’s an interesting design choice,” Una said dryly. “I’d like to take a look behind it.”

“It’s not safe to enter.”

“I suspect I’ll be fine.”

“Wren.” Hal sounded strained.

Wren snapped back to reality and slid onto the first rung of the ladder. It would make a noise if she covered the entryway again, but what choice did she have? As carefully as she could, she pulled the stone tile over their heads, wincing as it rumbled against the floor. She nearly lost her balance in her haste to clamber down the ladder, and Hal reached out to steady her. The brush of his hand against her waist caused the magical bond between them to flare like a live wire. They flinched simultaneously, and if she didn’t know better, she’d say Hal looked flustered.

She mouthed sorry while he blew out the candles.

They were plunged into darkness just as the sound of footsteps echoed above them. Una was only feet above her, and the pain of that nearly knocked her breathless. She hadn’t realized how much she missed her until now. How unmoored she’d been without her lead. More than anything, Wren wanted to go home. But home had never been a place for her. It had always been her team. That warm glow of belonging.

The way Byers snorted if she made him laugh too hard, or how he could provoke her into a yelling match over complete nonsense. How she could get Una to crack if she imitated their old drill sergeant’s droning voice. The tender look Una reserved only for Wren when they were truly alone.

But after Byers had disappeared and Wren had left Una in the snow that night, any home she’d ever had was gone. She would never get it back. She could hear it now, the glued-together pieces of her heart coming undone. Hal clamped a hand over her mouth, and Wren nearly gagged on the effort of not snapping at him. Then she realized—she’d let out a whimper. When she whirled around to face him, his eyes pinned her in place.

Steady, they said.

In this cramped entryway, Hal was too close for comfort. Over the clinical, cold smell of the tunnel, he smelled earthy, like strong-steeped tea and petrichor.