“Yes.” Jack cupped Raven’s face in his hands. Raven shuddered, silent tears giving way to a sob. “But that light will go out if you don’t let go.”

The shears clattered to the floor. So did the man, gasping and rolling onto his side. Raven slumped into Jack, and Jack’s arms encircled him, holding him close as Lily returned to the room. Her eyes were dry. Jack knew she was trying to be brave. Maybe she would wait until she was alone to break down, or maybe she would wait until Belle had been released and they were wrapped in each other’s arms. But sooner or later, the rage would come. The anguish. The grief.

Pain couldn’t be outrun. It was a wild, snarling creature in the forest, indiscriminately stalking its prey. There was only one way to survive it. You had to call out for other voices in the tangled woods. You had to reach for careful hands and let them pull you to safety, away from gnashing teeth and curling claws. And then, when you were strong enough, you had to reach out your own trembling hands and pull other people out of the darkness.

That was the only way to weaken the pain. The only way to defeat a monster that left no footprints. And now, as tears slid down Lily’s cheeks, Jack and Raven pulled her into their embrace.

24 The Beauty of Bolt Cutters

Belle was free of her prison, but she didn’t feel free. The elegant Tudor cottage should’ve seemed enormous after spending three days in a cramped cell. She should’ve spun around in the library like a girl in a storybook, arms outstretched and fingers never brushing against the walls.

Instead, she stood before the door to the attic, a pair of bolt cutters in her hands. She’d learned some things in juvenile detention. A plastic utensil could be used as a weapon in a pinch. The sharp blade of a knife could slide a lock out of place. And if you found yourself in front of a chained attic door, the average garage would hold the tools you’d need to break through them.

Belle broke through the chains in five minutes flat. They clanked on the floor, lifeless and dull. Then she was stepping over them, opening the creaking attic door. A dusty staircase led to the top.

One step followed another, and soon Belle was passing through a smaller door. The ceiling jutted up at a slant. She had to hunch over as she moved toward the center of the room. Then she just stood there, heart hammering, as she took in the contents of the attic.