“I am not worthy. I am not worthy. I am—” He begins to laugh harder, hysterical giggles he seems incapable of holding back.

“I am not worthy,” he gasps out. “And Reuben, you—you are not worthy either—”

Hemslock springs. He grabs Armani’s wrists, pins them against the altar’s surface. His men jump into action, grabbing at the poor man’s limbs to keep him still. Even then Armani thrashes about, nearly dislodging himself from the soldier’s grip despite his weakened condition. At one point, he sits up and nearly makes a break toward the deeper recesses of the cave, only to be hauled back much more forcefully by the bodyguards.

“Bind him tight,” Hemslock instructs them. “I don’t want him breaking free.”

“Shit,” Gries says. He stares deeper into the cave, at something that the rest of us don’t see. “I—I see her.”

“Keep a hold of yourself, Gries,” Hemslock says roughly. “We’ve already got one mad person to deal with. Don’t add to the score.”

I see her as well. She doesn’t come closer, content to hide in the shadows. But Gries shines his flashlight her way. Caught in its glow, her features are easier to make out. A pretty woman with long black hair and dark eyes looks back at us. She resembles Chase so closely that I know who it is.

“Why are you doing this?” Gries asks, the pain in his voice clear. “She never did anything to you!”

“Leo,” the woman speaks in the softest voice. “Where is Chase? Did you remember to help him with his school project? I helped with the outline, but it’s due tomorrow and I need to leave for the airport.”

“No,” I say, when Leo takes two steps toward her. “Don’t.”

But he is no longer listening, caught in the trap that always wraps around the island’s guilty. “Elena, I’m sorry. I—”

“I don’t want your apologies, Leo,” the woman says sharply, turning from him. “You’ve made your decision. My lawyer will be sending the documents over in a few days, like you want. And I will be asking for full custody.”

Leo’s pace quickens. Before I can stop him, he grabs at her shoulder. “Elena, no. I shouldn’t have shouted at you that morning. I shouldn’t have threatened to—”

Chase’s mother turns back to him, and she is no longer Elena. A flytrap of a mouth emerges from what used to be her face, something like a tongue curling around his wrist.

Gries screams. My machete slashes between them, severing the hideous, lolling protrusion that clings to him.

At the same time, Hemslock raises his gun, pointing it straight at the figure that wears Chase’s mother’s shape.

The woman’s face explodes.

There is no blood. Instead, the same sap-like liquid that had covered the floor of the Grieses cabin bursts out of her, spraying the nearby walls. The creature drops to the ground, a chaos of writhing vines and roots.

But Hemslock doesn’t stop. He walks over to the remains, firing angrily into the carcass of branches until it stills. He pauses and stares off into the depths of the tunnel, as if trying to see within the gloom. And then he laughs—a high-pitched sound similar to Galant’s in its madness.