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All bore Hunt and Crowsfell logos, uniting them in a somber theme. On the reverse, a few signs supported the Marked.

Keep Running.

Never Scream.

Trust No One.

“Wow,” Layla murmured, pulling her hoodie tighter. “I forgot how intense things get around here.”

I let out a dry laugh. “Yeah… Hemlock goes all out for anything remotely festive or related to Crowsfell.”

“Well, if you are somehow Marked this year, I wouldn't worry too much. You've got a whole firing squad to stand between you and any Huntsmen.”

“None of that has stopped anything from happening so far,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, that’s true. You might finally be on your own.”

Um…what the hell? She didn’t elaborate, changing the topic to our classes, like that statement wasn’t remotely a tiny bit passive-aggressive. Given neither of us had the greatest day, I went with the flow. We continued chatting, changing the subject to professors we liked, which ones we suspected were demons, anything to distract her from what she’d unloaded in the library, and me, the strong possibility that I was now part of a game rumored to have caused real-life trauma.

We were faking it well enough until I heard the telltale sign of a car behind us. I glanced over my shoulder and saw a sleek black sedan, headlights off, coasting down the street at a snail’s pace. The windows were tinted so dark it was impossible to see inside, but I felt the weight of someone’s gaze crawling up my spine. That car had been parked on the street we had just turned off of. Layla must have noticed too because she hesitated, herhand brushing mine in uncertainty, a silent question I couldn’t answer.

"Just keep moving," I said quietly.

The car continued to match our stride. I made sure I didn’t look back again, not wanting to give this person any attention if they were messing with us, but when the engine revved, I instinctively checked to see what they were doing. The car swerved to the right, heading toward the sidewalk.

Straight toward us.

CHAPTER SEVEN

SANJANA

Layla let out a piercing scream as the tires mounted the curb. I seized her wrist, yanking us both toward the narrow gap between two hedges bordering someone’s front yard. After making it over the initial hump, the car slowed down enough to terrify, fast enough to be a threat until they were forced to stop, their front bumper shredding through a chunk of bushes that had to have scratched the hell out of their paint. A fire hydrant, of all things, blocked their path with iron resolve.

In her panic, Layla tripped over nothing and fell into me, arms flailing like an inflatable tube man caught in a wind tunnel. Somehow, miraculously, she stayed upright.

I wasn’t as lucky.

I hit the ground hard, palms scraping raw against the concrete. The impact rattled up my arms and seemed to echo through my knees. The familiar sound of a modded engine snarling down the asphalt brought everything to an end. His truck hadn’t recovered from the sudden stop before the driver’s door flew open.

The second the person driving the sedan saw Ryder, they braked hard, tires screeching in protest. They reversed almost as fast, their bumper clipping the sidewalk with a loud crack as they backed off. The car fishtailed and tore down a side street, gone in an instant. I’d barely caught my breath before Ryder was there, lifting me off the ground with ease.

His hands were on me in the next second, skimming my arms, shoulders, wrists, checking for damage, grounding himself through the motion.

“Are you hurt, baby?” His voice was low and taut, calm, barely masking the fury underneath.

Did he just call me—?

That wasn’t important.

“My pride and dignity are a little bruised,” I muttered, brushing dirt from my jeans.

He cupped my face with his large hands. “Sass, I need to know you’re okay,” he demanded, voice rougher now.

I laid my hands on top of his. “I’m fine, Rye,” I assured him softly.

I left out that my palms stung like hell and my knees felt like they’d kissed the pavement at terminal velocity. His thumbs brushed over my cheeks, then slid lower, fingers shifting to rest on either side of my neck. He didn’t press hard, just enough to feel.

“Don’t lie to me.”

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