“I’m sorry,” he managed. “It won’t happen again.”

“I don’t doubt that,” he said. “Well, remember to take off your shoes—I just mopped. And supper’s on the table. Mushroom soup. It’s probably cold by now, but it’s still good.”

Selby made a disgusted face.

“Mrs. Havener at the library stopped by today to let me know that they’ve purchased several more books. She said something about adventure and history, and she seemed very excited for me to tell you, Barclay.”

Normally, the thought of new books at the library would thrill Barclay, as there wasn’t a subject he didn’t like to study. And though he’d buried his dreams of travel in the past, he still loved reading about adventure. But tonight he had other things on his mind.

Setting the freshly washed mushrooms aside, Master Pilzmann finally looked up at Barclay, and his jaw dropped on seeing the dirt and flecks of leaves covering Barclay’s clothes.

“My boy. What happened to you?”

Barclay’s face reddened, as it always did when he lied. “I—I fell.”

“Running again? You can’t keep breaking so many rules—the mayor will sentence you to community service for the ninth time. And you’re filthy. Is that… blood?! Where could you have—”

“I’ll go bathe,” Barclay squeaked, then he left his basket on the table and hurried out the door toward the well.

Master Pilzmann’s house was at the southern edge of Dullshire, against the town wall, so there was no one to see Barclay as he hauled a full bucket of water to the outhouse. He stood, naked and shivering, as he wet a cloth and wiped the grime away.

Within minutes, someone knocked. “I brought you fresh clothes,” Selby told him. “And medicine.”

Barclay cracked the door and grabbed them, not in the mood to say thank you.

“Has the Mark gone black yet?” Selby whispered.

Yet? Barclay’s heart clenched as he examined the tattoo, still a brilliant gold that gleamed brighter than a coin. Clearly, Selby believed it was only a matter of time before the Beast escaped.

The Mark squirmed on Barclay’s shoulder, as though trying to pry itself off his skin.

Maybe Selby was right. The girl had said the Lore Keeper forms the bond, not the other way around. What had happened didn’t make sense. It was an accident, a mistake. Maybe the Beast felt the same way. And if it broke free, there was no telling what it would do.

“It’s fine, just go,” Barclay grunted, and he heard Selby scamper off.

He applied the ointment, cringing as it stung, then put on the clean clothes. He left the outhouse and threw his old sweater in the garbage. It was a shame to lose it—he only owned four—but if he took it to the tailor, then she would ask questions about how he’d gotten such a large tear.

It really was a matter of “yet,” he realized. Because if the Beast didn’t break the bond and eat him, then his lie would unravel—and this mistake would cost him way more than community service. Either way, his life was over.