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Trish opened the cabin door.

“Get in, and don’t try anything clever. If you do, Irene will die.”

I scanned the room, looking for a weapon, a way out—anything that would let me escape without putting Irene in danger.

I found nothing. Trish’s gun remained pressed against my back as she ordered me forward.

We kept walking until we reached Irene.

Kurt stood beside her, a knife pointed at her.

“What are you doing here?” Irene looked up at me, her eyes widening. “Fuck, Ryden.”

“He came willingly. For you.”

“God, I love you, but I hate you.” Irene sighed. “Why would you leave Yara alone? It’s the bitch’s plan.”

“You talk too much. But, of course, talk all you want, because you won’t be talking soon.”

“Fuck you. I hope you die a horrible, horrible death.”

Trish stepped forward, her shoulder slamming against mine, her gun now trained on Irene.

“You will be the one dying a horrible death,” Trish snapped.

“We will see.”

Irene’s eyes flickered up to meet mine.

“Yara will murder you, and you’ll die like the pathetic bitch you are…” Irene understood the assignment. “Alone. All alone. Yara doesn’t like you. She hates you.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Trish leaned in, gritting her teeth. “Shut the fuck up.” The gun smacked against Irene’s head.

“But you told me to talk all I want.” Irene blinked.

Now…

I slipped my hand beneath my sleeve, my fingers closing around the dried flower.

I kept my eyes on Trish as she leaned closer, her attention fixed on Irene.

“You will shut up if you know what’s best for you.”

“You’re going to kill me anyway.”

Trish stood up, self-satisfied. Kurt stared at the blood dripping from the gash on Irene’s forehead.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt her,” Kurt whispered. He looked suddenly pale. Trish scoffed, shaking her head at him.

“She is a bad person.”

He flinched.

Now!

“But—but—”

“Kurt, what did I tell you?”