A fragment of doubt lodged itself in my breast. One thing I knew well was how to snuggle up with blame every night like a warm blanket that would tangle around your throat and choke you in your sleep. Graeson blamed himself for his sister’s death. He was so like me in that respect—and yet so unlike me. He was confident, a leader. He never doubted, didn’t hesitate. He acted, not reacted. Even when his first impulse wasn’t the best solution, he still rolled with his gut. And I, being the worst fake girlfriend ever, had leapt to conclusions based on my own sense of morality, without giving him or Dell a chance to explain. I hadn’t spared a single thought for how he was coping after last night, because I hadn’t understood that living with his actions was the true punishment.

Suddenly, the surveillance marathon could wait. “Take me to him.”

* * *

Deep into Chandler pack land, skin crawling under the watchful eyes of unseen wargs, I came to a standstill beneath a massive oak tree that dominated this section of forest.

“This is as far as I should go.” Dell rested a hand on a wooden slat nailed to the tree trunk. “Are you good with heights?”

Squinting into the sun, I tilted my head back. Way back. Far above us, I glimpsed the base of a platform built around the thick cedar’s upper branches. “I’m not not-good with heights.” Though this climb might test those limits. “Is this safe?”

She patted the bark covering his hideaway. “If it held Cord, it’ll hold you.”

With those words to recommend it, I gripped my first handhold, tested my first toehold and hauled myself up three feet off the ground.

Only twenty or thirty left to go.

“You can do it.” Dell popped my bottom and winked at me. “I’ll be right here to catch you if you fall.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” She might be supernaturally strong and fast, but I would be a hundred and thirty-eight pounds of dead weight if I lost my grip. Huffing out a breath, I found my next grip. “Here we go.”

I made the rest of the climb in silence. Each step was as sturdy as any ladder, and though the tree had begun claiming the slats, growing over the edges anchored against its trunk, each remained clean and treated. The platform above me, when I reached it, also appeared to be solid and free of mold or warping.

This, I knew before reaching the top, was Graeson’s sanctuary. Too much care had been taken for it to be labeled as anything else.