Presently, we stop in front of a cabin, and my vision narrows to a single pinprick. The gun feels like it’s burrowing a hole in my leg. I think I’m going to black out.

Breathing deeply, I relax my fingers on my backpack straps, one by one, and focus on the scene in front of me. The cabin is unlike any I’ve ever seen. Elevated ten feet in the air, the grown-up tree house is complete with balconies, windows, and sliding doors. The entire structure is perched on three thick, sawed-off trunks and braced against another enormous tree. A long, rising walkway leads to the front entrance.

The result, however, is far from whimsical. The house is crudely built, with wood that looks like it’s battled a hundred thunderstorms. The frame looks sturdy enough, but there’s no trim on the windows, no shingles on the roof. It’s as though the builder lost interest halfway through the project.

“Charlie lives here?” I ask, my mouth dry.

“Yep.” He opens the door and hops down from the Tahoe. “For at least the last decade.”

I should follow him out of the car, but I don’t. Thoughts whirl around my head like a tornado. I have to kill a person. Not just any person, but Bandit’s uncle. The person we just drove two hours into the woods to see.

My heart rams against my chest. I have no experience at this. This mission. This murder. Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that I even get the opportunity to point a gun at Charlie. Will I be able to pull the trigger? Can I single-handedly be responsible for ending a person’s life?

I don’t want to do this! I want to find a brook and listen to the water gurgling past the rocks. I want to be a girl whose only goal is getting to know this intriguing blue-haired boy. I want to forget I ever heard a voice in my head.

A set of knuckles raps against the car window, and I jump. Bandit peers through the glass, his brows furrowed. “You coming out?” Hastily, I slide the backpack over my shoulders and step onto a field of overgrown weeds that tickle my ankles.

The long trip up the walkway feels like I’m marching toward the gallows. My breathing doubles with every few steps. By the time we reach the front door, I’m a sweating, knee-trembling mess.

Charlie better not be in a violent mood, because I’m not overpowering anyone in this state.

Instead of knocking on the door, Bandit turns to me. “I didn’t mean to brush you off before,” he says. “Back at the house, when you asked me who made me feel worthless. I said it was none of your business, but the truth is…I was glad you cared enough to ask.”