Hyde was there the night Gray poisoned Aria. He was also there the morning Wylan took a third of the tribe and left, renouncing his loyalty to Perry and to us—the Tides. He knows as well as I do that these three were forbidden ever to come back.

I stop when we are forty paces away. Wylan stands with his hands raised in surrender, looking from me to Hyde.

The strength of my vision allows me to see him as clearly as most people see at five paces. Weeks in the borderlands have not been good to him. His brow is heavier and lower. His pointy jaw juts out farther. His grimy skin sags like a plant that has wilted in the midday sun. Clothes that are no more than rags drape on his bony, stooping form. He has always had a pinched face, like he’s just swallowed ash. In the time since he left us, he only appears to have become more bitter.

“What are you doing here?” I ask. There is a soullessness to his black eyes that chills me.

“I came to talk to Peregrine.”

“Perry would kill you.”

“Then I’m lucky to have come by you first.”

“I may kill you myself.”

Wylan’s nostrils flare, and his chin rises slightly in suppressed anger. He has never liked me. “I mean no harm, Brooke. I’ve come to ask forgiveness.” He glances at the two men at his sides. “We have.”

“You’re seeking forgiveness?” It seems impossible. It’s a word I’d never expect to hear from his mouth. But he nods.

“Yes. I want to come home.”

There is something in the way he lingers over the word home. Does he know we’ve abandoned the compound?

“Please, Brooke. We’re tired. We want to be back with our tribe. Take us home with you.”

“No chance,” Hyde growls. He stands motionless at my side, his legs firmly set, his form perfect. The picture of an archer at his most lethal position.

“Tell Peregrine, then,” Wylan says. “I beg you, Brooke. Take the message for me. Tell him I want to speak to him. He’ll forgive me. At least give me a chance.”

Hyde says, “I’ve heard enough.”

I have too.

I drop my aim and let my arrow fly. It sinks deep into the earth between Wylan’s feet.

He lets out a yelp and lurches back, but Hyde’s arrow flies an instant later, also landing inches from Wylan’s foot.

“Idiots!” Wylan yells, retreating frantically. “You’re insane!”

“Get out of here,” I tell him. “Come back to this land again and it’ll be your death.”

After we run them off, Hyde and I hold our post until the morning watch relieves us. We talk about Wylan. I am surprised by the fisherman’s return—Wylan has always been so proud, so stubborn—but Hyde is not.