I scramble forward and drop to my knees, grabbing Jasper’s arms. The tree root has spiraled tightly around his left ankle and is tugging him back, retreating into the soil. His hands grasp at the forest floor, at twigs and moss, nothing that will help him. His eyes wide.

“Rhett!” I call behind me. “Come help me!”

But Rhett doesn’t move. He’s standing at the edge of the forest, his expression slack.

“I can’t pull him up by myself.” Still, Rhett refuses to react.

I dig my feet into the ground, bracing myself, and pull back on Jasper’s arms. But the roots are too strong, his legs sinking into the soft, ashy ground. “Shit,” he starts saying, over and over in disbelief.

Even for everything he’s done, I don’t want to see him die out here. Not like this.

“You have to help me!” I shout back to Rhett, but it’s useless, whether out of fear or stupidity, he won’t move from his place beside the boundary trees, so close to freedom. He watches as his friend is being pulled under.

“You have to empty your pockets!” I yell to Jasper. “Whatever you took from the forest, you have to give it back.”

His eyes stall on mine, then he releases one hand from my grip, reaching around to his coat pocket. Clumsily, he pulls out whatever is inside, scattering the items across the forest floor. Silver buttons, a hair barrette that looks like it’s made of white pearl, the belt buckle tarnished and covered in dirt.

And then I see it.

A single thing among the others.

Metal glinting up at me. A gold band, a stone at the center.

It can’t be.

I want to reach out for it, but I can’t release my hold on Jasper. I squint, bending forward, and then I know for sure: The moonstone glimmers a pale milky white, even in the darkness.

My grandmother’s ring.

The one that fell into the lake when I broke through the ice. An offering to the forest, just like Mr. Perkins had said.

Jasper found it on the forest floor, among the dirt and rot and patches of snow, inside the Wicker Woods. Returned.

Lost things found.

My head throbs and I look away from it, back to Jasper.

But it’s already too late—he’s up to his waist, twisting, thrashing. The nose on his stupid reindeer sweater is already beneath the soil, patches of snow filling in around him. The forest is swallowing him up.

I’m not strong enough, and I meet his eyes, blinking wide—panic in them. The forest doesn’t want us to leave.