We? We weren’t sitting anywhere. I was standing. In my slippers. “If I sit down here, I won’t be able to move again, Charlie,” I said.

Charlie glanced at Tuck and then away. He obviously didn’t want to allow him to be in charge. Part of me didn’t blame Charlie after what we’d discovered about Tuck. I was still in shock over all that, if I was honest. The Tuck I’d known as a kid would never get involved with that stuff. He’d changed. But I had to do my best to put that aside and simply trust in Tuck for the moment. He was more qualified when it came to “roughing it,” and so for now, it was wisest to follow his lead. Soon we’d be back in civilization. Soon everything would be back to normal. Soon everything would make sense again.

Charlie huffed but then nodded. “Come on. You’re right. We all need to rest.” He stood and picked up both his suitcase and mine and walked with me toward the protection—meager though it might be—of the massive tree.

* * *

There was no quiet like the quiet of a winter night outside in the middle of nowhere. And there was nothing that made you feel smaller than staring up at a star-studded sky, your back against the earth before you drifted to sleep.

I’d dozed a little, but the cold, and the sting of the wound on my hip, had roused me fully awake, and I was having a hard time falling back to sleep even though I hadn’t gotten nearly enough. An hour? Maybe less. I had no way to tell. I pulled the pile of clothing I’d draped over my shoulders tighter, turning away from Charlie, who lay next to me snoring softly. At least he was managing to sleep.

A small sound made my eyes fly open, and I saw Tuck, sitting up, leaned against the wide tree trunk, his knees bent, feet flat on the ground. I blinked though my vision needed little time to adjust to the brightly moonlit night as I tried to figure out what he was doing. Was he…sharpening a stick?

I leaned up on my elbow, and his head lifted. His eyes glittered in the silvery light, the angles of his face more sharply defined. A strange shiver tightened my stomach muscles. “What are you doing?” I whispered.

“Making a weapon.”

“A…stick?”

“A spear,” he said. “Not ideal. But better than nothing.”

I glanced around. “What are you anticipating?”

“Nothing specific at the moment but it’s always best to be prepared.”

“I guess you’re right,” I murmured. He flicked his wrist, and a small piece of wood went flying off the stick, landing somewhere next to him. “What are you using to sharpen it?”