The others had fallen asleep before midnight. Anika curled up on a mattress we'd dragged from a side room, Elliot half-draped over an armrest like a sleeping cat. The oil lamp flickered low, casting shadows that made even the peeling wallpaper look theatrical.
I waited an hour. Just long enough to be sure no one would stir. Then I slipped on my coat, tightened the laces of my boots, and donned the mask.
Mr. Jester stepped into the night.
The city was quieter at this hour—resting, not dead. I traced the route Mark sent me through alleys and silent backstreets until the pavement gave way to cracked dirt roads. Trees crowded in like curious watchers. And before long, I reached the edge of the forest.
The path twisted. Damp earth squelched underfoot. A branch clawed at my cheek. Still, I moved. My breath curled like fog in the cool night air.
Eventually, I saw it.
An old cabin, slouching against the darkness like it had been waiting years for this visit.
