My heart stutters.

Then Thea whips around, and for a split second, the grasping demons fly back. Thea throws a look at me. I think she does, anyway. Her face is only a blazing blur. I can’t tell if she’s speaking. I can’t see her expression. If she’s desperate. Furious. Smiling. Her hand flashes out.

Then she lowers her head. She bursts through the ring of darkness. The creatures regroup in an instant, but Thea is already streaking away into the woods. The dark things shriek and hiss. They scramble after her.

And I’m left alone.

On the ground, in the clutter of dead leaves a few feet away, something glimmers.

I stumble closer.

It’s a pocketknife. Thea didn’t just raise her hand toward me. She was throwing something.

I pick it up. The handle is red enamel. The blade, when I unfold it, looks sharp and clean.

I glance back up into the trees, at the bodies slowly turning. If I can reach them, if I can just get out to those smaller branches, maybe I can cut them free.

There’s a sturdy pine with plenty of branches just to my right. I shove the knife into my pocket and rush toward it. Maybe I can climb high enough. Maybe I can creep out onto just the right limbs.

I have to.

Of course, if I cut them loose, there’s a drop of two or three dozen feet, all the way down to the hard forest floor. But I’ll think about that when I get up there.

My hands are shaking so hard they seem electrified. I grab the jagged bark of the trunk, but I can’t even feel it. I don’t have nerves anymore. There’s nothing in me but fear and fury and flickering light.

I’ve just pulled myself onto the first branch when someone steps out from behind the tree.

“Anders,” says a voice.

I know that voice. Warm. Calm.

Flynn.

I’m so startled I almost fall off the branch. I jump back to the ground a few feet below and stumble backward. “Flynn?” I choke out. “What are—”

“Anders.” Flynn moves farther into the clearing. A guitar case swings from his hand. With the dark things gone, just enough light falls through the canopy for me to see him perfectly. There’s no glow or flare or shadow coming from him. He’s just Flynn. Thank God. “So glad I found you,” he says.

“We—” I make a jerky motion toward the canopy. The swinging bodies. “Flynn. You’ve got to help me.”

“I know,” says Flynn. “That’s why I’m here.”

Everything I felt about Flynn, all the confusion and distrust, melts away before his words even sink in. It’s Flynn. My mentor, my idol, my almost-family for half my life. I could practically throw myself into his arms.

“Okay.” I speak fast. “I’ll climb up there and cut or break the branches. If you can—maybe—catch them when they fall, or—”

“That’s not going to work.” Flynn shakes his head. He’s as cool as ever. Like he could be leaning back on his folding chair in the middle of the studio. “They’re too high.”