She was overdue for a shower anyway, she reasoned, rolling the shoulder she’d landed on and grimacing at the low ache that rose from it.

The ground continued to rise. It took her longer than expected to reach the fence boundary. She climbed over the posts, pressing on the wire, and imagined she could hear the house’s distant bells chiming.

Then another, slightly closer noise reached her. The low, slow creak of damp rope. Margot faltered. For a second, the world was silent, then the sound returned. Mournful, deep. Like something heavy suspended from a rope.

Her path would carry her near it, whether she wanted to see or not. Margot let her movements grow cautious. The clustered trees weren’t dense and didn’t extend far, but she found it hard to parse the dappled light and coiling shadows inside.

Something reflected the sun. It was metallic, Margot thought, and about the size of her head. She moved forward, one arm raised to protect her face from branches as she slipped between the closest trees.

She leaned on a trunk to keep her footing stable. Old, crumbling bark collapsed beneath her fingers. It was coated with lichen and dry moss and spiderwebs that were dewy even though the sun had been up for hours. Around another tree, and the metallic shape resolved ahead of her.

She faced an axe, embedded in a fallen, long-dried tree. Logs, already cleaved into fireplace-size chunks, were strewn about.

Someone—most likely her parents—had been interrupted while chopping wood and had never returned to finish the job. Leaves were scattered over the fallen trunk, suggesting it hadn’t been disturbed in some time.

The axe was old. The polish on its wooden handle had become dried and cracked, but it still looked sturdy enough to do its job.

Margot tilted her head as she examined it. She’d planned to sleep with a kitchen knife beside her bed that night, but the axe might be an even better solution. It would be hard to feel vulnerable with an axe within reach. Harder to feel like she was at a disadvantage.

And if the late-night intruder returned, she doubted they would be so eager to play cat-and-mouse games if they saw the glinting steel. It wasn’t a practical weapon. But then, she didn’t need it to be. She had no intention of actually hurting anyone unless they tried to hurt her first. But she did want to make the point that she wasn’t easy prey and that she wasn’t someone to be toyed with.

The spectacle of an axe was hard to beat.

She leaned against the handle, fighting it free from the stump. It had become jammed but inched out in painful increments. Margot planted one foot on the fallen tree to hold it still, and with a final shove, the axe jumped from its notch.