“Where the fuck are you going?”

Nia is standing in the Pearces’ driveway, and I run to her and say, “Jane’s got him.”

My sister stares past me at Chris revving the engine and Amy looking through the back window. “Are you sure?”

“We did it,” I say. “I figured it all out, and this is her fighting back.”

Nia looks over her shoulder, and I imagine her running back to wherever Jay is still searching, and then Chris driving off forever. But she doesn’t do that. She grabs my hand, pulls me toward the car, and says, “Come on.”

Chris’s face is a mixture of focus and fear while Amy can’t even look at us.

Nia doesn’t say anything until we’ve been driving for fifteen minutes, then she turns to Amy’s dad and says, “If your wife has hurt my brother in any way, I’ll ruin her.”

80

We drive for a bit longer, then pull up at the side of a road covered on all sides by trees.

“Where are we?” Nia asks, but Chris doesn’t reply.

Instead, he walks through a clearing and Amy follows. “This is stupid,” I whisper. “You have seen every horror film ever, right? You never go into the woods.”

Nia sucks in a breath, holds it, then slowly exhales. It’s what Mum used to do before she was brave, and I remember the day she vowed to leave Martin forever.

I used to think only men were scary, but that was before we met Jane.

What choice do we have? If Aaron is in there, we need to follow Chris and hope this isn’t some horrible trick.

Nia grips my hand. “Come on.”

The sun fills the gaps between the trees, but I hardly notice. The anxiety that is normally a stone in the pit of my stomach has grown into a boulder, pushing the sickness I’m feeling up my throat.

Chris and Amy are a few steps away from us, their feet crunching the leaves that cover the trail.

They are whispering to each other, but I can’t make out the words. Chris looks like he’s been here before, and Amy copies his steps, their eyes fixed firmly ahead and their bodies dodging the branches while Nia and I parry their spiky jabs.

This doesn’t feel like a well-trodden path. There are no dog-walkers and no signs of life except the birds singing above us. Sometimes the trees rustle then settle as something unseen escapes, like they know what’s coming.

I look for footprints or any other sign that Aaron came this way. But the ground is hard and completely covered, and there are no carvings on the trees or clues that he’s been here.