“But Were customs are important. And if you don’t . . . Irene might be angry.” In the slight tremble of her lips, I hear what Nele doesn’t say. At me. And I don’t want that. Irene is a stand- up gal— good to know.

“Eva— ”

“It’s not my fu— ” I stop. Take a deep breath. The abduction/Heat combo isn’t doing my temper any favors. Or maybe I just take after Irene. “Nele, will you please call me Serena?”

“The name the Humans gave you?” Baffled lines appear on her forehead. “You want to honor it?”

“It’s not that . . .” Deep, I want to say. Except, isn’t it?

Serena is the name by which my sister calls me. The name on my diploma. The name Koen whispered in my ear last night. Eva might be what Fiona chose when I was a child, but it belongs to someone who was at the mercy of others, someone who doesn’t exist even in her own memories. Serena was a spur-of-the-moment decision by a nurse, but it’s my name because I made it so. Everything I built is attached to it.

“Yes. I do.” I glance at the jar in her hand. “How do I know it’s not poison?”

“It’s not at all! Look.” She smears a large quantity of the liquid on the inside of her wrist. When she wipes the excess away, the stain is a dark, brilliant green. It reminds me of a forest at night.

It reminds me of Were blood.

“Can I, then? Irene taught me, just for you. I’ll do good.”

I nod and let her guide me into the bathroom.

FOUR HOURS LATER, THE RAIN HAS YET TO STOP, AND IRENE HANDS me Fiona’s letter.

She calls me from downstairs and asks me to join her for tea, addressing me as dear once again. I put on the hoodie that Nele laid out for me and stumble out of the room, stopping by the hallway window to press my burning forehead against the glass.

It’s bad, this fever. My abdomen is cramping. I desperately need new underwear. My thoughts feel slippery, difficult to chase and impossible to catch. Every once in a while, I snag the tail of one and am dismayed to find that they have little to do with my insane aunt wanting to use me as proof that orgies and drinking Were blood are Good, Actually. It’s usually a large, coarse hand closing around my hip. The scrape of stubble against my throat. A soft kiss on the curve of my shoulder. My nest, back at the cabin.

Several new people have appeared, including three male Weres, bringing the total in the house to too fucking many. Everyone smells putrid. I need a shower. I need to bury my face into the T- shirt I’m wearing and chase Koen’s scent. I need that hormone shot, right now.

“Would you like me to introduce you?” Irene asks when I sit at the table. “You will have to make a choice soon.”

The acquisitive glances of the men are hard to miss. They stand by the entrance, fidgety, pupils blown wide. Maybe I didn’t overreact by too much when I broke the ceramic soap dispenser in the upstairs bathroom and stuffed the sharpest piece in my pocket. “No. I would like to read the letter, then leave.”

She surprises me by handing it over instantly.

“The photos, too,” I say.

“You have seen them already.”

“And I want to see them again.”

“Very well.”

“How will I know that the letter is real?”

“You won’t. You’re going to have to make a decision, but you are an intelligent girl, thanks to your parents. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

The letter is not addressed to me. It’s the first thing I notice— the Dear Irene in unexpectedly round, neat handwriting. Mine is slanted and messy, hard to make out. Looks like an ECG line, Misery always says. You make people work for every damn letter. No one should have to expend that much effort to know that you want them to buy zucchini. As if she ever once went grocery shopping.

But this, this is bubbly. Girly.

My mother’s.

Dear Irene,

I don’t know if or when you’ll receive this letter. I don’t know if you’re alive. It’s been approximately three weeks since we went our separate ways. Like we agreed, I’ll be vague about names and locations, in case the Northwest intercepts our communications. Without going into detail, I dearly hope our time apart has been less eventful for you than for us.

Originally, it was just C., P., E., and me. A few days later, we encountered three other Favored on the run and joined forces. A larger group of adults allows for more night shifts to ensure that we’re not being surrounded, or ambushed. These days, we always need at least two people to stay awake to sound the alarm. Luckily, only E., H., and I are still Human. Our senses being what they are, there is not much we can do. H. sometimes helps me take care of E., even though she remains wary of men. We have settled in one of our old safe houses, the most remote we could reach. You may remember it as the place where our dear friend G. gave birth a few years ago. It’s nice to have that lovely memory as we face this cold winter.

You must be wondering whether C. has had any revelations about the current situation. Sadly, I don’t have good news on that front. He believes that the Northwest is closing in, and I suspect he might be right. I feel a great deal of guilt about the skepticism I expressed when he first informed us of his plan to take over the Northwest, and I now realize that I shouldn’t have questioned the prophet’s word. After long meditation, C. has informed us that objectors like me are the real reason the takeover did not go as planned. The least I can do to atone is stay by his side and take care of him.

You probably want to know about your favorite, E. Frankly, I regret bringing her with us. She is deeply unhappy, and perhaps even regressing. She eats little, rarely pays attention to us, and at times she won’t speak at all, not even when asked direct questions. In the first few days on the run, she would ask after her friends, but has since stopped. She is so withdrawn, the others sometimes make fun of her. Call her slow. They say that she cannot be trusted to obey orders, and are worried about her giving our location away, and about her behavior in a crisis. Do you recall that battle at Glacier, right before we ran? There was so much blood, and so much death. I tried to shield E. from it, but she hasn’t been the same since. All I ever wanted was for her to grow in the presence of her father. C.’s greatness has been a constant throughout my life, and she deserves to be inspired by him, too. But he rarely has time for her these days. I try to carve out moments for just the two of us, slices of the day to play or draw or snuggle together, but is it enough? Would she be better off elsewhere? My love for her is boundless— and much stronger than my pride. Her happiness matters to me, more than being able to say that I am the cause of it.

As you’ve probably realized by now, this is why I’m writing. You and E. have a special bond, and if you are in a safe place away from conflict, I cannot help wondering whether that’s where she should be, too.

There is another possibility. The news has reached us that the new Alpha of the Northwest offered to hear any Favored who will turn themselves in, and will spare the lives of those who were not directly involved in the attacks. C. says that he’s an illegitimate Alpha and cannot be trusted. However, I’ve heard rumors of Humans successfully taking advantage of this stipulation. Would he offer grace to E.? Would it be foolish to expect him to keep his word?

Let me know your thoughts. And whatever you decide, do not let the tone of this letter bring you down. These are hard times, but if we follow C.’s instructions, we will prevail.

Much love,

Fiona

I finish reading, and my timing must be pitch perfect. Because I set the letter on the table just as Irene says, “Ah, he is here. Welcome.”