Chapter 3

The maybe-Flynn turned, his eyes locking with Caspian’s seconds before a strangled cry rose over the roar of the water. A second later, Flynn was running—not a slow, relaxed jog—he ran as though he’d come face to face with his worst nightmare, and Caspian cursed.

Had he been able to kill Blade and get away with it, he would. 2

Flynn ran. He ran despite his muscles screaming in protest; ran despite tasting blood at the back of his throat, and ran despite his lungs burning from his rapid breaths.

Blade still guarded the bridge. Hop hop, carrot top. His voice echoed in Flynn’s mind, the water was ready to swallow him as Blade pressed him against the too-low railing, his upper body folding over the fence until his backpack hit him at the back of his head, and all he could hear was the raging water.

More times than he could remember, he had pictured himself, limp and broken, on the rocks below. He used to wake up covered in sweat with Blade’s laugh ringing in his ears.