“She was looking for me.” Thane joins us in the clearing, and the air thickens, suffocating me as I’m caught between the two. I look toward Shy in time to see him clamp his mouth shut. He steps away, putting distance between us, and passes a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes. That’s when I see it—the blade sheathed at his side. Mostly hidden under his jacket, it gleams eerily. It’s curved like a scythe, but shorter.

I’ve seen a blade like that before.

Someone tried to kill me with it.

Shy drops his hand and pulls his jacket together.

“The police are on the way,” Shy says, not taking his eyes off me. “They’ll want a statement from you.”

As he leaves, I watch him traverse around the dead—a skilled captain navigating rough seas.

He can see them too.

Chapter Seventeen

Anora and Thane Treadway

The game is delayed with the arrival of the police and ambulance. Sean is put in the back of the squad car while the other kid—whose name is Gage—is loaded up on a stretcher, unconscious. Ally’s wrapped in a blanket. During the interrogations, I catch most of the story. The three had gone into the woods to smoke weed when Sean started acting weird—pacing and muttering to himself. I know where this is going before it’s over. The police will say the drugs sparked Sean’s behavior, and maybe that was a part of it…but that creature fueled it.

When we’re allowed to leave, Thane walks me back toward the stadium. Unbelievably, the game is still going to continue. Apparently Nacoma Knight is serious about homecoming.

“Eat this,” he says, handing me the bread from a hot dog he purchased while I was being questioned.

“I’m good, thanks.”

“You have another hour here, and you’re about to run low on adrenaline, so I suggest you eat something.”

I take the bread. “Fine.”

Thane is right about running low on energy. I was keyed up while talking to the police, but as soon as it was over, I felt exhausted. We stop behind the bleachers while I finish eating the bread. I chew slowly, mostly because my stomach feels like it’s boiling acid.

Thane steps away from me and lights a cigarette, blasting smoke from his nose and mouth.

“You know your uncle is here?”

“Yep.”

“And he lets you do that?”

“As long as I don’t smoke near his money, he doesn’t care what I do.”

Well, that’s sad.

“Tell me what you saw,” he says, leaning against one of the brick columns. It’s the first time I’ve had the chance to really look at him all evening. He seems smaller somehow, in dark jeans and a red flannel shirt.

“A kid trying to beat up his friend.”

“What else?”