This is over,” Hawthorn says, stepping into the clearing, using her most commanding voice, borrowed from Ora. She doesn’t mind being her mother’s daughter in a moment like this one.

The Grays emerge from between the trees, each one winding a piece of string around their forefinger, the tips as white as roots until they turn blood-choked purple.

“You can’t kill all of us,” Rush says.

“Someone will find out,” Lelia adds.

“You won’t be able to stand it,” June finishes.

Haven cries out. She crumples to her knees. “I didn’t kill anyone. I’m not a witch. Imogen is the one . . .”

The dirt covering Danny’s body loses its hold, falling away. Danny breaks from it, collapsing. She slumps to the earth, breathing too hard, but at least that proves she’s breathing.

This moment has the peace of an ending — but as it turns out, the silence and stillness are only the eye of the storm.

Haven crashes forward, her hands tossed out in front of her, palms to the ground. Dirt covers her. It swarms over her back, binds her to the earth. “No,” she says, the word muffled, almost lost, as the earth presses her down. “No, you can’t do this to me.”

The Grays look at one another, trading strength.

“All we’re doing is telling you the truth,” Rush says, soft as lullabies, mild and sweet as warm milk.

“We’re binding it to you,” Lelia says.

“So you can’t forget,” June finishes. “Or look away from it.”

Hawthorn crouches so she’s right there in front of Haven, staring into the darkness this girl has gathered. Hawthorn takes Haven’s chin in her hands. “So sure you’re the victim that you won’t look at the harm you’ve done, can’t even name it. You let it loose on the world, though. You used magic — your sister’s magic. You’re not a witch, but the rules hold true. Whatever you do comes back to you threefold.”

“Stop hiding, Haven,” Lelia says.

“Stop hurting people,” Rush whispers, cold.

“Make a new choice,” June begs.

The look on Haven’s face wavers, and for a moment there is a chance that she’ll come back to the Grays, that she’ll stop pretending she has no power here, that she’ll change her ways and do no harm. The magic might still change its course, if she can face the truth of what she’s done.

Haven’s eyes pierce theirs with perfect sincerity. “I can’t control it. I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t —” Her voice stops like a snuffed candle, starved of air. The earth pulls so hard that it slips out from under the Grays’ feet, swarming over Haven until she is a lump in the earth.

A burial mound.