I hear the Strategia’s boots scrape along the tree trunk behind me and hear him grunt as he pulls himself up. Given his speed, I have ten seconds at most before he reaches me. I catch a glimpse of Ash running below us, and if I didn’t think I would break something from this height, I would jump down to him. There is no way Ash will make it up here in time to help me fight—if this guy grabs me, I’m done. He moves like a well-trained assassin, and while I’m good in trees, I’m also a student who barely spent a few weeks at the Academy.

I grab a higher branch, pulling myself up quickly enough the bark burns my hands. The guy makes a swipe for my ankle and gets so close that if I were a fraction of a second slower, I would be tumbling to the ground. Please don’t let me die. Please, please don’t let this be the end. I won’t make this mistake again. Ever. I promise. Just let me make it to my dad in Europe.

The branch I’m on forks and I take three daring strides and jump to an even thinner one on the next tree.

“Stop, November!” Ash yells, and I’m so surprised that I actually do.

I whip around and the Strategia is running along the branch I was just on.

“Mr. Baines!” Ash shouts.

My mind snaps into focus. Baines—Old English stemming from the Latin word ban, meaning “bones.” It likely referred to a thin person. Thin. I look down at the branch I’m on and it suddenly occurs to me what Ash wants me to do.

The Strategia makes a leap to the branch I’m on. Just as he lands, I jump, grabbing the branch above me, and slam both feet down on the thin one. The branch snaps in half, the sound ringing through the forest, leaving me dangling and leaving the Strategia no time to recover. His arms flail desperately around him and he falls twenty feet, hitting the ground with a dull thud.

I swing my legs back and forth for momentum and get my ankle wrapped around the branch. I pull myself along with my arms and legs until I reach the trunk, then rush down it to help Ash. But the moment my boots hit the ground I can see there’s no need. The bearded guy lies perfectly still, his arms and legs splayed out around him, a pool of blood forming below his head where a piece of New England granite sticks out.

For a long second I stare wide-eyed, my feet frozen in place, not able to process what I’m seeing. I blink, but he’s still there, unmoving. My stomach turns and my hands fly to either side of my face.