Kira felt her eyes go wide, and covered her mouth with her fingers to stifle a cry. She crept forward a few steps, trying to get a better look at the hand without giving herself away. The hand was severed at the wrist, the palm pressed tightly to the log, the arrow plunging straight through the back of the hand. The wood below the wrist was dark and discolored, and Kira thought she could see a blade mark in the wood itself—someone had pinned the hand to the wood while it was still attached to a body, then chopped it off and let it bleed out. The skin was gray, but not decomposed. This had happened within the last few days.

She took another step forward, looking for the body, but stopped herself and retreated farther into the forest, crouching down in the lee of a giant boulder and shaking her head compulsively. “This isn’t right,” she whispered. “It isn’t right.” She drew her handgun, just for the comfort of holding it, and peered out through the trees. A soft breeze stirred the fletching on the end of the arrow. “It’s just a warning,” she told herself. “A warning against Morgan’s forces, which are the only enemy they have in this part of the country. They might still be friendly to me—they might be friendly to the humans—”

She rolled her eyes. “Who am I kidding? I’m not this stupid.” She stood up. “There are other Partial factions I can talk to; I’m going to go find one that doesn’t dismember their enemies and use their body parts as decorations.”

Kira turned to leave, but from her new position she could see a foot down on the dock; a foot that seemed to still be attached to a body. She stopped. If she could get a glimpse of what the corpse was wearing, that might give her a clue as to who had killed him, and which side he was on. She looked again at the arrow and the graying hand. Morgan’s people don’t use arrows. But it might not be the Ivies either. She groaned. It doesn’t matter who the dead body is—I need to get out of here, now—

And then the foot moved.

Kira swore under her breath, gritting her teeth and staring at the grisly dock. If someone was alive, she had to try to help him . . . but the dock was beyond the tree line. Everyone on the lake would be able to see her. She still didn’t know which part of the lake the Ivies lived on, and which other groups might be here fighting them. She tried to turn and go, but she couldn’t do it. If this victim was alive, he needed her help. She checked her handgun, making sure she had a full magazine and a bullet in the chamber, and crept forward.