Outside, an incessant rain washes away all other noises.

My muscles shake as I sit up in bed to take in my surroundings. I’m in yet another cabin— two-storied, cozy, sandwiched between a pond and a pine forest. Late morning light filters in from the window, which is notable for its lack of bars. That alone would give me pause, but what really clues me in that this is a clear case of Not Like Other Abductions is the door to my bedroom, which is wide open.

No guard.

I consider climbing down the window. I could run south for the next four to five weeks and stop only when I enter Southwest territory and Misery welcomes me with her infamously cold, stiff embrace. Problem is, it’s prisoners who run away. And I might not be one.

So I make my way down the creaky yet sturdy stairs.

“Eva.” A slight Were woman glances up from a thick book, welcoming me with a warm smile. She has long straight hair, silver gray all over, but a look at the taut skin of her face tells me she must not even be forty yet. When she stands, her simple, flowy dress drapes down her body in waves of green. Bet you whatever that she has an herb garden in the back, a voice says in my head. “Good morning, dear. What would you like to drink?” She glides toward me, all witchy cottage-core vibes. My metabolism must still be working through the drugs, because when she briefly wraps her arms around me, I do not violently shove her away. “Anything to eat?”

“Um. No, thanks.”

“Are you certain?”

Is this for real? “You already drugged me once. I’m just going to assume that everything you offer me is roofied, if that’s okay with you.”

The woman sighs, looking remorseful. “You’ll have to forgive us. We usually have better manners than this. And please, let me reassure you that you’re not our captive. There are vehicles at your disposal if you wish to leave. All we wanted was an opportunity to speak candidly with you. We attempted to bring you here without too much fuss, but the Alpha of the Northwest . . . he is very protective of you. I hope that the unfortunate methods to which we resorted will not influence the tenor of our future acquaintance.”

I’m not sure what this lady’s grasp of sarcasm is, so I resist the impulse to tell her that it’s No big deal. All water under the bridge. Instead, I note the frequent use of we and glance around. We are alone in the kitchen, but through an open doorway I can see the living room, and three Human women sitting on the velvet couch. They seem to range from their late teens to early fifties. The button shape of their noses and their auburn hair suggest that they’re likely related.

They whisper feverishly at each other and watch me with wide, awestruck grins. Clearly, they’re guzzling the Kool-Aid. It’s all I can do to bite I’m a hybrid and your murderous prophet dude had shit to do with random genetic changes that lead to interspecies reproductive compatibility off my tongue. “In that case, I’ll be heading home now.”

“You are welcome to do so— ”

I whirl around.

“— but I thought you might want to visit with me. I am, after all, the only family you have left.”

It’s so fucking manipulative, I’m disappointed in myself for falling for it. Nevertheless, I halt. Even as the not-rotten part of my brain whispers, Keep going, Serena. Keep. Fucking. Going.

When I turn back to the woman, she doesn’t hide her smugness. “My mother was Human,” I hiss, just to get ahead of that specific turd of bullshit.

“Of course Fiona was Human.” She plucks a piece of paper from the table and holds it out to me.

Bile climbs bitterly up my throat. “I’m not going to bawl over a shitty stock photo, or some AI generated . . .” But it’s a lie that crumples the second my eyes drop to the picture.

It’s old. Not quite Kodachrome, but printed out on glossy paper that one doesn’t see much anymore, because these days everything lives on phones. The right corners are a little bent, curled into themselves from traveling among hands. Aside from that, it’s a very clear photo. Above all, it’s . . .

It’s me. Or it’s not. But it is. The tilt of her head. The dark eyes and darker hair— straight, long, just a hint of wave at the end. The smile, the full lips, the straight line of her nose. There are differences, too. She’s on the taller side, her jaw squarer, her complexion olive toned. But I recognize my softness in her, rounded edges that we shared until the last few months wreaked havoc on my body. The necklace at her throat is unnervingly familiar: a silver moon, scratched by a full set of claws.

I glance up at the cottage-core witch. Who has my attention and fucking knows it.

“I have a box full of photos. I was always very partial to Fiona. Out of all the girls . . . I like to think that part of me knew how special she would be. However, if you want to see the rest, I would like for us to sit down.” A smile. “Don’t worry. You’re not making a commitment by hearing me out. I know your friends make us out to be a dangerous terrorist organization. In truth, we are very reasonable, and that’s why they’ve been keeping you away from us. We are not attempting to convert you and ask for tithes. This is not Hades. I won’t serve you pomegranates.”

I don’t believe a single word, but my fingers burn to touch the photo. That must be why I find myself sitting at the head of the dining table.

“Irene,” the woman says, taking the chair next to mine. “Is my name. I forgot to mention it, since I know yours.”

“Actually, you have the wrong one.”

“Forgive me. It’s out of habit. You prefer Serena?” Her tone is so perfectly sensible, I briefly feel guilty about acting rudely. Then I remember that I’ve been abducted and swear that if I make it out of this alive, I’ll go back to therapy and divest myself from my people-pleasing tendencies. “I don’t want you to think that we didn’t care about you. We would have searched ceaselessly, if we’d known that you survived.”

“How exactly are you and I related?”

“Ah, right. Constantine, the leader of the Favored, was my older brother. Which makes me your aunt.” Her smile seems genuine. This should be a heartwarming moment, but I shiver anyway. “I know your memories are lost, and even if they weren’t, you couldn’t possibly recall this. But I held you on the day you were born and adored you from the very start. I will continue to do so, no matter what you decide. Welcome to the family, Eva.”

So much for using my real name. “Does this mean that Constantine was my father?”

“Yes, naturally. You were his miracle. His ‘little sunlight glint,’ that’s what he called you.”

A sudden chill runs down my spine. I wait for the shock of Irene’s revelation to fully sink in, but it never does. Given the cult’s interest in me, I was near certain of my connection to them. Constantine being my father . . . well, it was just the worst possible scenario. “Of course it materialized,” I mutter.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing. Just excited to hear that the weird jingoistic nutjob everyone hates was my father.”

“Is that what they told you about him?” Her head tilts. “What else? That he was insane? Violent? Power hungry? Because I can explain.”

I’m sure she can, but I’m not biting. “I’d rather discuss . . . Fiona.” Calling her my mother feels wrong. Even if my hands itch to touch the photo. “Why was she with the cul— excuse me, this totally legitimate social club?”

Irene chuckles. “Your father would have enjoyed you. This humor of yours, you get it from our side of the family.”

“Actually, I get it from the need to proactively cope with a staggering amount of unprocessed trauma. Back to Fiona, please.”

“Of course. Your mother was born among us. Her family was very devoted to the Favored. They aspired to become Weres. They would have been so proud of what their granddaughter accomplished.”