To me it looks like every other tree in the forest, but he clearly sees something special in it. “This is the safe house?” I ask.

“What were you expecting? A penthouse? You Influencers are hard to please…” He kicks the side of the tree. “But don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll find it more than comfortable.” As his foot connects with the trunk, the forest floor drops out beneath my feet, sucking me down a hole. “Have a seat.”

“I hate you!” I scream, landing in a net at the bottom of the dirt pit.

Laughing, he jumps down after me. “I told you I’d hear that again tonight, though ‘hot pink’ makes me think otherwise.”

“Then you definitely needed the reminder.” I glower at his silhouette in the darkness. Standing, I rub my bruised elbow.

He pulls the trapdoor shut over our heads. Clicking on his penlight, he shines it at me. “You’re looking pretty rough.” As he smudges his thumb across my cheek, something hot smears toward my ear. “We’ll get you cleaned up. But first, we climb.” He illuminates a ladder built into the inside of the hollow tree. “Follow me.”

I allow him a small head start before scaling the iron ladder. It’s cold and dark inside the tree, the only light coming from the penlight Garrett holds between his teeth. We climb for what feels like forever, and I’m grateful I can’t see how high we are thanks to the cramped blackness. My ears pop as the tree narrows around us, and I sense we’re nearing the top.

Above me, Garrett stops and unlatches a small door, casting us in silvery moonlight. Following him through the opening, I crawl out onto a suspension bridge precariously strung between the tips of the trees. Damp wind pricks my cheeks, but I’m grateful for the sobering air as I stare through the bridge’s slats. Three hundred feet below us, the forest floor is an unidentifiable black abyss. Frozen, I dig my fingers into the wood, not caring about the splinters that gouge my hands.

The bridge shudders with Garrett’s footsteps. “Are you coming?” he asks, towering above me.

“Yes.” Invincibility still pumping in my veins, I push myself to my feet. Nudging him aside, I take the lead, the bridge swaying dangerously from side to side until we reach a wooden porch attached to a small, redwood treehouse. It has windows on all sides but is so entangled in branches and morning glories they’re barely visible. Picking the lock, he ushers me through a hobbit-sized door and shuts us inside. The interior is simply furnished with a low tweed couch, white fur rug, and a vintage red electric fireplace.

“We made it.” I exhale. Collapsing on the rug, I lean against the couch, pushing my mask off my face. “Now what?”