I pushed through the undergrowth, my eyes glued to the handheld. I knew I should be paying more attention to the environment around me, but, dammit, I was worried about Violet.

I had been monitoring her last night, and when she had stopped moving, so had I. I calculated how long it would be before I intercepted her before going to sleep. By my calculations, it would be three hours.

When I woke up, she was still stationary. She had probably just woken up as well, and was breaking camp. I fed Samuel breakfast, ate some food myself, and then broke down camp. Then I started walking east. After an hour, I checked the handheld and her location was still fixed, and unmoving.

I paused, wiping the sweat off my brow. It wasn’t late yet, but she should be moving by now. I checked my compass, and changed my direction slightly, anticipating a new rendezvous point.

I traveled the new direction for half an hour, when the voice in my head won out, and I clicked the handheld back on. She was still not moving.

I realized that there were only a few reasons for her to stop moving. The first was that she had met up with whoever her allies were. That might mean a change of direction, or even loss of the signal.

The second reason, the one that made my chest clench, was that she had been attacked, and was dying.

I exhaled sharply, a curse bursting out of my mouth. Samuel yipped in surprise, his large eyes watching me intently.

“Sorry, boy. That wasn’t meant for you,” I said, offering my hand.

He sniffed it, his tail wagging slowly. He gave my fingers a little lick—I had spent the larger part of the day training him not to leap on me and lick my face—and then sat down on his haunches, waiting.

No matter what her reason for remaining stationary, I knew I had to travel fast. I studied the map and her location for a few seconds, fixed my compass so that the arrow was pointing north, and then began pushing through the undergrowth.

It was slow going. There weren’t a lot of natural paths bisecting this part of The Green. Which could be a good thing—no trails meant no predators. Or at least, limited predators.

I came upon a massive log, and decided to scramble over it. I picked up Samuel and helped him up, then climbed up myself. The drop on the other side was a bit steeper than the side I had climbed up on, but I dropped down, not bothering to secure a rope to myself.

Luckily, I landed perfectly, and then I called Samuel, who, after a moment of hesitation, leapt off the log into my arms. I set him back down, fixed my compass, and continued.

I was taking risks and I knew it. I needed to slow down, but a part of me feared that if I did, I would find her dead. I tried to convince myself that I wanted her to be alive because I wanted answers from her. I wanted to know why she had chosen me for her duplicity. I wanted to know why she had wormed her way under my skin. I wanted to know why the hell she had kissed me.

My logic reasoned that she couldn’t give me answers if she was dead.

But my heart was beating to a different rationale—one that said it wanted to find her, to make sure she was safe. That if I lost her, I’d never see her smile at me again, or see her frown when she objected to something about Patrian society. I’d never hear her laugh. I’d never feel her lips.

My heart felt that if she died, I’d never feel happiness again.

I growled, sending Samuel skittering again. Ugh! Get it together, man!

The minutes ticked by, melting into hours as I moved. I paused periodically, giving water to Samuel and taking some as well, the compulsion to start running toward my destination thrumming through my veins.

Eventually, the urge to run won out, and I tore through the undergrowth, my legs pumping, leaping over bushes and logs, Samuel keeping up next to me. I knew that we were generating too much noise, but I was beyond caring. Anything in this death trap that got between me and my goal would be sorry.

Luckily, nothing did. I slipped the handheld out of my pocket as I ran, using it for reference as I closed the difference. I crashed into a clearing, my dot practically on top of her dot, and stalled, my heart pounding.

Gazing around, I could see the mist was more concentrated here, obscuring my vision. I scanned the ground, searching frantically, when Samuel’s yip alerted me.

Turning, I saw the dog shoot off, and I followed blindly, having the good sense to pull my gun. Samuel guided me around a root, and then I saw her.

She was lying on the ground next to a pile of dried vomit. Her skin was extremely pale. Samuel immediately rushed to her, licking her face, trying to get her up. I was close behind him, pushing him aside.

Violet’s pulse was rapid under my fingers, her breathing wheezing and shallow. I slid my hands under her back, pulling her up, and her head lolled side to side, limp. Placing her in between my legs so I could better control her body, I lifted her eyelids and shone a light in her eyes, but her pupils didn’t respond.

I quickly set to unbuttoning her shirt, my mind racing. She had been poisoned, but by something she ate or a venomous creature, I couldn’t tell. I reached the last button, and then I froze. Undressing her while she was helpless… it felt wrong. Granted, I had seen her in next to nothing, but still, I felt a little odd about exposing her like this.

I overrode it. Her life was more important.

Pulling open her shirt, I inspected her skin for bite marks. Finding none, I pulled her shirt back on over her shoulders, and then moved to her pants.

All of a sudden, Violet started to seize in my arms, her body jerking like a broken marionette doll. I wrapped my arms and legs firmly around her. The fit lasted for several seconds, and when it was over, she had white goo pouring from her mouth.

I quickly shucked off her pants, and immediately saw the makeshift bandage encircling her thigh. I removed it quickly. Her upper thigh was swollen, black, and writhing. I recognized that she had been bitten by one of the great black centipedes. I laid her down on the ground on her side and placed a knee on her hip, so she couldn’t jerk away.

Removing my knife from my belt, I quickly sliced the wound open, using the blackened puncture marks as a guide. Violet twitched, but remained unconscious.

Yellow pus and dark blood spilled from the wound. I grabbed my canteen, and rinsed it out, until I could see the orange placenta-like encasement that held the infant centipedes.

All of the centipedes in The Green were venomous, but the greater black centipede’s venom was more insidious if the symptoms weren’t recognized. The venom was at work, dissolving Violet’s muscle tissue and pumping poison into her veins. Meanwhile, the nutrients created by the venom of the sac seeped back through, feeding the growing life inside.

I used my knife and punctured the sac. Translucent centipedes about the size of my thumb slid out of the case, dripping down her thigh and onto the ground. I used the bandage to wipe them off, throwing them as far away as possible. Gently, I grabbed the edges of the egg sack, and pulled it out, taking care not to rip it.

Once it was out, I opened my bag, pulling out my medical kit. I quickly mixed an antiseptic powder packet with some water and spread it over her wound. It dried and hardened quickly, fixing her tissue in place.

As it dried, I found the necessary two pills that would help her system process the venom and extricate it from her body. I forced them into her mouth, poured water down her throat, and stroked her neck until she swallowed them.

I continued to pour water down her throat, working liquid into her, and I kept her in my arms. I told myself it was so I could monitor her better. If she vomited while she was unconscious, she could choke, so I needed to be there to make sure she didn’t.

But deep down, I knew I had her there because I needed to feel her against me. I kept checking her pulse to make sure she was still alive. I fought the urge to talk to her, because I knew the words that would spill out of my mouth would be a mixture of platitudes, begging her not to die, coupled with vicious accusations.

Several hours passed before I felt comfortable letting her go. Her pulse was beating strong and regularly, and color was returning to her cheeks. I forced some more water and medicine into her mouth, replaced her mask, and then laid her down, wrapping her in my polymer blanket. I put some distance between us and sat down, staring at her. She twisted fitfully in her sleep, wresting her hand out of the blanket as if to fend off a blow.

My jaw clenched. How could a creature so dangerous seem so helpless at the same time? Violet was a walking contradiction. It was like there were two Violets—the Violet that was a threat to everyone around her, and the Violet that was a threat to herself.

I ran a hand across my face. I had been nursing Violet for hours, and the run had taken a lot out of me. I was exhausted. Samuel yipped, and crawled over me, whining softly, his tail thumping on the ground, reminding me that it was dinner time.

I opened up a tin, gave him half, and then ate the other half. In the fading light of the sun, I saw Violet’s bag lying toppled over from where I had kicked it in my haste to get to her. Some of the items were out—a few aerosol cans and some food items were scattered across the ground.

Moving over to it, I began to rifle through it and immediately recognized the silver case as the egg. I picked it up, examining its surface. I found a keyhole, and I looked at Violet, and the key she had tied around her neck. It was tempting to open, but then again—I had no idea what was inside, and I didn’t relish the idea of accidentally setting off some sort of bomb.

I set it aside, and began to rummage around. Everything else was for survival, although her bag was missing several important things, like medicine that could save her life. I heard something rattle as I went to set the bag aside. Frowning, I reached into the bottom and felt the cool press of glass under my fingers. I pulled it out, and examined it. It was a vial with several white pills. The vial wasn’t labeled. I contemplated it for a few seconds, and then repacked the bag, placing three empty aerosol containers to one side.

Then, I removed Violet’s blanket and went through her pockets. I found her gun, an extra clip, and a few slips of paper, which I removed. I covered her back up, and then clicked on my flashlight. There were two pictures—one of Queen Rina and a blond-haired man, both sitting with their throats slit, and the words “FOR THE BOYS OF MATRUS” carved into the desk that sat between them. In the other, I recognized King Maxen’s car, and the words “FOR THE MEN YOU WILL DECEIVE” scratched into the tinted windshield.

I unfolded the paper. It was a letter from Lee Bertrand, addressed to someone called Desmond. Sitting back, I began to read.