Slowly, with grating fractures, the tiny crack in the glass she’d been so relieved to find gone this morning reappeared.

* * *

Thrym spread word to the others. Her knot now watched Romy like the Critamal and Orbitos watched each other—with both eyes.

The shift was blatant. But her knot hadn’t told Atlas or Houston what had transpired between her and Thrym. Nevertheless, the pair could sense the tension and wariness the others now treated her with.

Her knot thought she was dangerous.

Romy wanted to throw her head back and scream that they were all idiots. She was still here. In control for the moment. Waiting for the fragile something to shatter and the bubbling insanity underneath to splinter forth and consume her.

Or did they think she’d run?

They should be worried about her staying. Who knew what would happen once Romy became the woman on the other side of the wall—the feral version of herself.

Sleep was impossible. She lay down anyway, just so Phobos, the one charged with first Ro-watch for the night, would be able to carry out Romy-duty in relative comfort.

But she lay awake and stared into the dark.

Soon only the creaking of crickets and the occasional scramble of fighting animals in the distance could be heard. There was no ocean, no breeze. Just dead stillness.

Until a tiny rustling alerted her to Atlas creeping from his swag. She stared, unblinking, as he took a tentative step just inside the tree line. He had one hand to his ear. When he turned she saw the expression on his face.

It was as though a hand had reached inside her and gripped her stomach in a tight fist.

Fear. His face was slack with it. Eyes wild, pacing now jerky and uncontrolled.

Romy slid soundlessly from her bedding, grabbing the knife next to her. Phobos didn’t move—he always was a useless sentry.

She glided up behind Atlas and watched him a little longer. He had a hand to his ear. The transmitter, she realised. He still had it with him. What was he doing with it?

Romy adjusted her grip on the knife by her side. The hilt was slippery in her sweating hand.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

Atlas whirled towards her, thunderous scowl in place. But then two things happened.

The man in front of her held a finger to his lips, and shut his eyes while listening to the transmission device in his ear.

Then he looked up at her in horror, face half-cloaked in shadow.

“They’re coming.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

She stuffed her bedding into her pack after jostling the others awake. She shoved the knife in after it. What had she intended to do with it anyway? She couldn’t stomach killing someone she hated—how could Romy even consider hurting someone she used to care about?

The camp was in disarray.