Her magic still sung in his veins, forging a connection between them. Every one of his vital signs betrayed him. The stutter of his heart shouted, liar, liar, liar.

Before she could say another word, he slammed his fist into her solar plexus. Her breath fled her lungs in a whine, and as white burst behind her eyes, she watched her life unravel like this: the boy scrabbling for the key in the grass; her body surging forward to stop him; her skull cracking against the tree; the rattle of chains and cold metal clamping around her wrist.

He moved far too quickly to be a civilian, and the energy humming in her very bones whispered, magic. The world split like a cell in mitosis: two wavering keys fell from the boy’s open hands and into the bloody slush. Step by swaying step, two boys backed away from her.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Then he was gone.

It was over in a moment, quicker than her diaphragm could unseize.

He’d manipulated her. And she’d let him.

With a shout of frustration, Wren pulled against her restraint until it rubbed her wrist raw and red. No matter how hard she struggled, the key was just barely out of reach. Her stomach churned with a familiar dread, and her breathing was too heavy, too loud.

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

She had lost their only lead. Her only chance to learn what happened to Byers. Her only chance to ensure no one else went missing. The queen was going to kill her if Una didn’t first.

No, death would be a blessing. She’d proven the queen right. Wren didn’t deserve her approval, and she certainly didn’t deserve her spot in the Guard if she let her emotions make her weak and gullible and—

Reckless, just like Una said. She was right, as always.

Talent couldn’t protect her from the queen. As long this bleeding heart beat within her, she would never be good enough.

“I have half a mind to leave you there.”

With one hand clamped over her face, Wren hid herself from Una’s anger. Her other hand hung loosely behind her, still chained to the tree at her back. When she weighed her options, dying here sounded far preferable to facing Isabel. Both promised a slow, tortuous demise. But at least if she stayed here, she’d go to her grave with her pride mostly intact.

“It’s for the best,” Wren agreed.

Una growled her annoyance and plucked the abandoned key from the grass. Wren worried for one agonizing moment that Una would hurl it into the woods. Mercifully, she unshackled her—but kept Wren’s wrist firmly manacled in her fist. Her pulse thrummed frantically against Una’s leather gloves.

“I asked you not to do anything while I was gone. What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking. He was suffering.”