In the growing light of day, she could see that this wasn’t a man; not a full-grown one, anyway. He didn’t look much older than her, in fact. He was perched on the bench in the middle of the boat, clinging to it to keep from being tossed out by the waves. Suddenly, he looked up, and their eyes met.

It was the young man from the day of the festival.

She wasn’t sure how she knew. She hadn’t been able to make out his features that day, only his dark, tousled hair. But she could see his features clearly now, and he was terrified.

She looked around in vain, as if there were some adult nearby to help her. Why had he gotten in the boat? Why would he want to cross to Endla, knowing what he must about the island?

She walked to the water’s edge without meaning to. He wasn’t going to make it. Not at the rate he was going. He gesticulated at the stern of the boat, then at her, then back to the boat again.

She shook her head in confusion.

“The rope!” he screamed.

Of course. The rope. She could pull him to shore. It might not be enough, but she could try.

She could.

Her eyes darted to his face again. He wasn’t far offshore now, but the boat was listing dangerously, thrown off-balance by the water pooling inside it. Any second it would tip, he would fall into the lake, and he would die.

She groaned in anguish. She couldn’t kill an outsider, but she couldn’t help an outsider, either. Every day of her life had been in preparation for this moment. So why was she hesitating? She reached for her knife, hefted it in her hand. Cut the rope, and he would die. She would have done her job. Would probably even be revered for it.

But then she saw the terror in his eyes and thought of her brother, of the dread he must be feeling as he fumbled his way through a dark, unfamiliar wood with a wolf on the prowl. She thought of Pieter and his last desperate cry for help. Somewhere, someone loved this boy, and if he died, their heart would break as surely as Isola’s had. Not all outsiders are evil, her mother had said, and it hadn’t been speculation. She had said it with as much quiet conviction as when she told her children she loved them.

The warring voices of her aunt and Sage echoed in her ears. We protect Endla above all else.

But Leelo wasn’t Ketty, and she wasn’t Sage. She couldn’t save her brother, but she could save this man’s life.

The knife slipped from Leelo’s fingers, and the next thing she knew she was grabbing the rope with both hands and pulling with all her might.