Siena

SIENA

The storm arrived with hostile darkness. If even one lightning bolt hit the wet granite, she would be dead before she knew what was happening.

Better than being torn apart by The Shadow. Better than a shot to the chest.

's headlamp beam sliced through the deluge as she searched for secure footing somewhere along the slick granite. She moved too quickly to be safe.

Her headlamp cast light on a patch of earth beneath a cluster of trees, and she cried out in relief. The saddest little haven she'd ever seen. Dropping onto the dirt, she threw her backpack aside and curled into a tight ball beneath the smallest tree in the cluster. She was supposed to crouch on the balls of her feet to stay off the ground, but her knee screamed in pain as she tried.

She unzipped her bag and yanked out Cam's rain shell, the only waterproof jacket she could find in the research cabin.

Cam. If she were here, she'd laugh at their shit luck. She probably would have told to wait until tomorrow to descend. Cam was so much better at wilderness survival than she was, and she'd left to fend for herself. Like she wanted her to die .

Thick rain pummeled her, less disorienting than her recollection of every betrayal that had shaped her adult life, starting with her father, who left a year after her mother's funeral. Because had gotten over the death, right? Conquered her grief like a tricky summit. And she was a legal adult headed off to college, so it was safe for her dad to move to the Yukon, to tend to his own emotional wounds in isolation.

Then Emmett, smashing everything they'd built together, like glass beneath his boot. Wilder Feyrer, whom she so naively trusted.

And finally, Cam.

was either unlucky, or these betrayals were a part of a larger pattern. She was obsessive, distracted, a workaholic. Trusted the ones she cared about to never hurt her. Now she had no one left.

When she escaped this place, she would find new people and learn to love them. But trust—trust was another thing entirely.

As dark and deceptive and unpredictable as it was, this Briardark was more trustworthy than any person. It promised to challenge her and test her resolve, offering secrets and discovery in return. Knowledge was all she had left to love.

Why even try to leave?

She didn't struggle against the urge to cry; there was no reason to pretend she had her shit together. Emmett used to tell her that she looked pretty when she cried, and she did. Her eyes shone neon blue, her lips red and full. The pale, freckled skin covering her cheeks glowed. When she cried, it was like some vulnerable, beautiful creature—her Mr. Hyde—fought to emerge from within and take control of the situation that hurt her.

Perhaps this creature was emerging now. Perhaps it was how she would make it home, even if she wanted to believe there was no reason to try.

The rain washed away her tears. Lightning slashed across the sky, but she didn't sense an electric charge. Still, she dared not risk moving and tried staying warm by just imagining she was .

ducked her head when the deluge grew too heavy to breathe.

I am everywhere .

If the Shadow was everywhere, then why wasn't he taking advantage of her vulnerability at this moment? She was about to get barbecued, for chrissakes, and if that happened, then he couldn't use her for his evil plans because she would be literal toast.

Five, maybe ten minutes crawled by before thunder rumbled to the west. The worst was over, but the rain refused to let up. She waited, drenched and battered. When her legs were too tired to support her weight, she fell back against the tree trunk and rested her head on her knees. She must have fallen asleep, because when she lifted her head, dawn bled through the inky sky to the east. It was over.

She'd forgotten about her knee until she stood, clamping her jaw around a gasp. One of those sprains that would hardly be noticeable if she were sitting in a lab.

Or sitting back up at the research cabin with all her and Feyrer's data, trying to make sense of this world.

So much depends on you, he told her in the letter he'd left for her. Find The Mother, .

His legacy had died the moment she left, and although her mentor had tricked her from the grave, leading her into the Briardark without her knowledge, leaving all that research back at the cabin made her sick.

She pushed the thought from her mind and rifled through her first aid kit in the middle of her pack. At least the ACE bandage was dry. She shimmied her soaking pants down to wrap the bandage around her knee and got dressed again, popped a couple of aspirin with her antipsychotic, and hoisted her pack onto her shoulder.

Reaching the marsh would take her the whole day, but the lightning storm hadn't cooked her, and while the clouds were thick and marbled overhead, the threat of rain was gone. She began her scramble downward, her cold, soaked clothing more uncomfortable than her twisted knee.

Upon reaching the midway point between the summit and the swamp, she smashed a Snickers bar, and drained most of her water.

The mountain was slowly leveling off, but fewer footholds scattered the granite than yesterday. She would need to move carefully. The last time she and Cam had trailblazed down a peak like this, her nose had been buried in the map the whole time as she read the topography lines to find the safest descent. Cam had just read the rock in front of her, singing Third Eye Blind's "Semi-Charmed Life" badly and making up lyrics when she forgot them, her version somehow more offensive than the original. She'd left in the dust that day to teach her a lesson: you can't book-smart your way to a trailhead.

The topography on her current map was wrong anyway, because this wasn't Deadswitch.

"You got what you wanted, bitch," muttered.

She spent her remaining time on the mountain mostly crab walking, sliding downward on her butt and sweating bullets. Eventually the incline eased as sunset approached. She rested for a minute to massage her knee and then hurried into the grove of cypress-like trees to find a place to camp.

Her boots sank into the mucky ground as soon as she stepped beneath the canopy. The surrounding air thickened with the stench of plant rot. With hardly an ecotone, the environment had changed from arid mountainside to boggy swamp.

Up ahead, a skeletal relic of a wooden footbridge provided enough of a surface to set down her bag. She searched through her things, dug out her sample kit, and scooped a bit of muck into a clean tube before sliding the vial next to the one with Isaac's blood, and then closed the case.

She could still study this place after she escaped, as long as she took enough of it with her.

Before she embarked again, the silhouette of a hut caught her eye. It stood on stilts beyond the bridge, surrounded by algae-infested water. Abandoned, most likely, and if there was anywhere she could take cover and spread out her things to dry, it would be here.

found some footing on solid ground and crept toward the structure. The murky water stank of sulfur, and the hut, neglected and decaying, stood silent.

Who built you?

There had to be others, like the masked man she'd met at the other end of the tunnel. Like the person who had written the song she'd heard on the radio.

And then I'll follow you way down, the moment we're about to drown.

Hopefully, they hadn't meant this swamp.

A meter of water separated her from the shack's ladder. She leapt, and caught a rung with her right hand while bashing her bad knee. Biting back her pain, she climbed to the edge of the platform. Rotten wood groaned beneath her as she stood, before her a sagging door that clung stubbornly to a primitive metal hinge. Where would someone find hinges out here to build such a shack unless they'd brought them from somewhere else?

Her pack made it difficult to stay balanced. She took it off and set it against the outer wall of the shack, then edged toward the door. She pushed against it, the hinge protesting with a squeal.

Out of the darkness, a hand shot toward her and grabbed her arm, yanking her inside. Alarm sparked in her chest as her assailant threw her against the wall. She screamed, lashing out to claw at them, but recognition struck them both at once.

"Emmett?"

His dark eyes widened. "Holy shit," he whispered, dragging her toward his broad chest and wrapping his arms around her. "I... can't believe you're here. I can't believe I found you."

She'd technically found him , but this wasn't the time to argue semantics. She clung to him in shock .

Emmett's lips pressed against her temple before his hold on her relaxed. She stepped back to study him in the shadows.

She'd been with him for years and had seen him scared. But he didn't look scared—he looked shaken. Rattled to his core, like he'd come straight from the losing side of a battlefield.

What the hell had happened to him?

Her gaze dropped to his hand, which gripped his hunting knife.

"I didn't know who you were," he blurted, lifting the knife like he suddenly didn't know what it was, either, and then slid it into the sheath on his belt. He clenched and unclenched his hand, his fingers trembling, and then touched her shoulder.

"I looked for Cam, and then backtracked when I couldn't find her," he said. "But you weren't at the cabin."

His tone wasn't accusatory, but her defenses went up instinctively. "You didn't come back! Isaac..." She shuddered at the memory. "Isaac was in pieces all over the porch. I couldn't wait any longer to bury him, and then I just felt sick and scared. I needed to get out of there."

"Yeah." He scratched the back of his neck. "I don't blame you for taking off."

"You... don't ?" It made little sense. He'd specifically told her to wait until he got back. He should be angry she hadn't listened, especially because he'd done everything he could to keep her at that cabin until rescue came.

"How did you get here before me?" she asked. "I would have seen you pass me."

"I hiked down the western side of the peak. I took that way because I thought you would do the same. It's a longer route, but easier."

It was like him to think she'd take the less strenuous way, especially alone. She was relieved he was safe, and that she was no longer alone, but he was definitely hiding something.

His fingers glided over her collar and down the front of her jacket. "Did you get caught in the storm? "

Emmett was clearly comfortable touching her. He'd kissed her before he had left to find Cam. When they were trapped in the microverse and couldn't breach the perimeter of the cabin, they'd done more than kiss. She didn't regret it, but she'd have to set the record straight with him—again—when they got out of here.

She nodded. "Last night was brutal. My things are outside... not really sure how to dry them out."

"We can try."

As he went to retrieve her bag, she shook off her unease, her attention wandering over the hut's interior. Half the roof was caved in, and much of the floor bore the telltale signs of rot. Against the only sturdy wall, right next to where Emmett had pushed her, a menagerie of dirty jars stocked a set of shelves.

Curiosity edged her forward. The jars were of varying sizes, but none bigger than her palm. Cloudy liquids and decomposing substances filled most of them. She slid her phone from her pocket, wiped water from the screen with her palm, and took a picture of the shelf.

"What are you?" she whispered. Herbs, food, medicine? "Who put you here?"

"What?" Emmett entered the hut and set her bag on one of the safer floorboards, kneeling next to it.

"Just trying to figure out who lived here, and what they were doing."

Emmett's fingers hesitated on Isaac's bow strapped to the outside of the pack. She thought he would question why she'd taken it, especially because she wasn't a good enough shot to use it for defense. But he said nothing, unzipping her bag and rifling through her things, then pulling out her sleeping bag and wet clothing.

"Hey," she said.

He stopped and looked at her, deadpan.

"Did something happen?"

He frowned as though he genuinely didn't know what she was talking about. "A lot of things have happened, I don't know?—"

"To you. Did something happen to you? You're not acting like yourself."

"You mean after I blew apart our research assistant with a shotgun, or before?"

She flushed. "Right. Sorry." She'd been so caught up with everything that had happened since Emmett left, she kept forgetting he'd put one of their team out of his misery only a few days ago. That moment—his sacrifice—would live with him for the rest of his life. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He hesitated, scratching his scalp. He usually kept his dark hair very short, but it was growing out, flecks of gray cropping up around his temples.

"You were right," he said. "We should have left Deadswitch when Isaac said to."

His admission threw her off-balance. He'd spent so much energy arguing they wait for rescue. "Why?"

He shrugged noncommittally. "I had time to think."

"About what?"

His face grew somber. "Isaac said this Shadow was after you, and then died proving it. I'm not putting you out of your misery like I did him, Sen. I'm getting you out of here."

A knot tightened in her throat. But you would if you had to, right? She thought better of asking. He was processing a lot right now, and she wanted to remain optimistic about their chances.

He patted down one of her t-shirts and tossed it to her. Dry enough. She unzipped her rain shell, shrugged out of it, and hung it from a protruding nail.

"Did you run into anything out there?" She tugged her damp shirt over her head. "When you were searching for Cam?"

"Nothing. Noises, mostly. But everything's different—soil, vegetation—like we're in the Olympic Peninsula or something. What about you? "

She slid into the mostly dry shirt. "Other than getting caught on the mountain in a storm?" Emmett knew little of what she'd uncovered since she found Feyrer's letter. Isaac and The Shadow had distracted them both.

So she told Emmett everything, starting with Dr. Feyrer's letter. How his research wasn't about the glacier but the Briardark, all his findings hid in the cellar. How she'd been tasked by her dead mentor to read through it all and then find The Mother. She told Emmett about the bloodstain on the map, and the strange symbols Isaac believed marked the way back home.

He kept his mouth shut and listened to it all without interrupting her once, and it was so strange that a part of her wondered if he had died standing up.

Once she finished, Emmett said nothing for a long time. His glazed eyes fell to the jars. He worried his lip until he broke skin and licked away the burst of blood. Outside, some wriggling swamp creature flopped around in the water.

He finally asked, "Is there any part of you that wants to do what Feyrer asked you to do?"

The question was bizarre coming from his mouth. It had been years since he cared about her wants. He was fishing for something.

"Yes," she said hesitantly. "Of course I'm curious. But I took pictures of many of his research documents... the stuff that looked important, at least. I don't need to stay in this place to learn more."

It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the full truth, either. The farther she hiked from that cabin, the more she wondered what she was giving up, and how much she could discover about this place, using Feyrer's research as a jumping-off point.

But given how Emmett's shoulders relaxed, she didn't want him to think that she'd changed her mind.

"Good," he said. "We need to get the hell away from here."

She smiled patronizingly. "I'm aware. "

"Sorry," he muttered. "And I'm sorry I didn't listen to you before."

"Thank... you..." she said cautiously, then nodded toward her sleeping bag, which he'd unrolled. "How wet is it?"

Kneeling, he patted the synthetic fabric. "Not too bad."

"I'll fall over if I don't rest soon."

"Alright." His eyes shot to the shack's broken shutter. "But we should start moving again at dawn."

She agreed, and they fell silent as they got ready to sleep in the light of Emmett's camp lantern. She didn't want to waste any of her little water on cleaning up, instead pulling off her filthy, damp pants and changing into her second pair. Her boots were soaked and muddy, and she set them in the corner to dry while wincing at her tender, waterlogged feet.

She peed while hanging off the edge of the platform outside, one of her greatest feats. When she was back in the hut and settled in, Emmett rolled his bag out next to hers on the unrotted section of the floor and turned the lantern off.

He rested his hand atop her sleeping bag, and her thigh inside. "I'm glad you're here."

Her throat constricted. She'd left the cabin without him when he was only looking for Cam. Panic had gotten the best of her; she should have waited.

"Same. Good night, Emmett."

He shifted in his sleeping bag, and before long, his quiet snores rose and fell beneath the drone of the crickets.

wanted to sleep. Needed to sleep. But adrenaline still ran hot in her blood.

Something splashed at the water's edge, and a bug or crustacean scuttled over the hut's platform. A rustle of leaves, the scramble of tiny feet up a tree. Rodent or reptile?

The background hum of the swamp was harder to decipher. She strained her ears to pick out individual sounds, patterns that might hint at an approaching predator.

She jumped when Emmett snorted in his sleep, then dug her phone from her fleece pocket and turned it on, tapping into her photo app.

's fingers swiped mechanically over taxonomy sketches, her eyes tracing each illustration. Bugs with antenna configurations she didn't recognize, birds with elongated beaks and odd feather patterns sketched in monochrome. Unnaturally curved spines of reptiles, mammals with tusks or fangs and never without—all meticulously arranged under respective families and genuses.

Her thumb paused, the screen illuminating with an illustration of a deer. It was ordinary at first glance, save for a pair of tusks curving upward from its muzzle. Sharp and menacing, almost surreal. Were the tusks for gathering food, or for defense? And against what?

A hollow unease gnawed at her. Would a deer with tusks look as surreal in a photo as it did in the sketch? She wanted certainty, to spot them in their natural habitats and know they were truly creatures from the Briardark.

She kept scrolling, taxonomy drawings transitioning into a jumble of mathematical notations and sketches. Advanced calculus and synthetic geometry equations filled the browned pages of Feyrer's field journals.

The equations were nonsense, the calculus far beyond anything she'd ever tackled. Symbols and formulae—cryptic proof of something ?

Theories. Not proof.

Frustration simmered within her. Every swipe brought additional equations, each more baffling than the last. It would be easier to decipher an alien language. All science involved math, but these journals looked more like the workbooks of a physicist, not of a geomorphologist, even a seasoned one.

The promise of Dr. Feyrer's letter seemed far-fetched now. Answers in his research? All she found was more confusion, more questions. 's thumb moved almost involuntarily, swiping to the next image. This time, sketches of cells and bacteria filled the screen.

She zoomed in to the one in the center. A prokaryote—bacteria, most likely. The parts were labeled like a biology test: capsule, envelope, flagella, nucleoid. The gelatinous innards were shaded darkly and labeled mycelplasm instead of cytoplasm .

What the hell was mycelplasm?

She zoomed out, and a rectangular drawing in the page's corner caught her attention. Her breath hitched as she expanded the detailed sketch of a hog standing upright. Its bulbous eyes glared at her, gnarled human hand clutching a bloody cleaver.

The Butcher was scrawled in messy print above the pig's head, just like the cards in the deck from the research cabin. No matter how many times she'd shuffled the deck, she always pulled the same two, while the others were blank.

The Butcher's Daughter , and The Verdantry .

The Butcher's Daughter hadn't been an abomination like The Butcher, just a woman wounded by an arrow. If The Butcher's Daughter was supposed to be the actual daughter of the pig—well—that was one messed-up genetic mutation.

Someone from Feyrer's team had known about the cards. Did they also understand how they worked? Would they have known what her cards meant? Maybe the answer was still in the cabin's cellar.

He betrayed you .

Yes, but there was nothing she could do about that now. Feyrer was dead.

furiously swiped across a few more pages, the unlabeled equations returning. She couldn't tell if any of them were related to the card.

Turning off her phone, she tucked herself back into her sleeping bag, the image of The Butcher stubbornly persistent in her mind.

A distant splash yanked her from her sleep, and her heart leapt into her throat. She opened her eyes to an oppressive darkness. Something stirred in the swamp water.

She stretched her arm out until she found Emmett's sleeping bag, reassured by the steady rise and fall of his chest. A consistent, low rumble infiltrated the night. She listened, unable to pinpoint where the noise was coming from. Maybe her own head.

dipped back into sleep, but jolted awake when the rumble rattled her bones, her adrenaline screeching to life.

Run.