I’d been caught. I deserved that. Whatever happened now, I deserved it.

But the woods fell silent again. Finally, I rose, wiping my mouth and looking down on the body of Gregory Kirkman.

I need to summon the Hunt.

I shook my head. I couldn’t. Just couldn’t.

Then what had I done this for? To stop him, yes, but I still needed to do what I came for, and if I’d made a mistake, I had to let the Hunt punish me and pray it would be an invisible death, that I would vanish and my daughter would never know what I’d done. Yes, that was cowardice, but it was all I could hope for. That if I deserved to die for this, Eden could keep her memories of her father untarnished.

I started following the instructions the woman had given me. Mark the body like this. Carve a tree like this. Draw a symbol in the dirt like this.

I hadn’t even finished before I heard the thunder of hooves and baying of hounds. I backed away from the body and my vomit, and I sat on the path with my knees pulled up.

Then I stopped. Was I going to huddle on the ground in fear? No. I’d made a choice. There was no denying that.

I rose, and then I stood there and waited. Finally, through the trees, I saw the dark shapes of the hounds, the red glow of their eyes. The beasts stayed in the shadows. Waiting for their Huntsmen.

Hooves pounded, and horses snorted, and fire flickered through the trees. That was all I saw: dancing flames. Then a giant black stallion charged down the path. A stallion with red eyes and a flaming mane and burning hooves.

I stood my ground and waited for those hooves to trample me. To run me down where I stood. But at the last moment, the hooded rider yanked the reins and pulled the horse up short.

I couldn’t see the man’s eyes. Couldn’t see his face at all. Just the hood and blackness below.

That hood turned from me to Gregory’s body and back again. The Huntsman dismounted. He walked to the deadfall and reached to pull a branch aside.

“Don’t—!” I began. Then I realized that was a stupid thing to say. These were men who’d seen such things before. But the Huntsman still recoiled and let out a snort, not unlike his horse’s as the huge beast stamped the ground inches from Kirkman’s head.

The Huntsman returned to the path. He looked at Kirkman’s body and then at the symbol on the tree and the half-drawn one in the dirt. Finally, he looked at me, and while I still couldn’t see his eyes, I could feel them boring into mine.

“Todd Larsen,” he said.

“Y-yes, sir.”