The greenhouse glass shuddered as another gust of wind slammed into it. Vinny's breath came in short, sharp gasps, his pulse pounding in his ears loud enough to nearly drown out the storm. The thing wearing Daniel's face was gone—for now—but the acrid stench of the shattered jar's contents still hung heavy in the air, clinging to the back of his throat like burnt sugar and rotting leaves.
Deborah's fingers dug into his arm. "We need to go. *Now.*"
Lena didn't move. She stared at the broken glass scattered across the floor, the last silver traces of the preserved memories evaporating into the damp air. "Too late for running," she murmured. Then, louder: "She's coming whether you're ready or not."
A deafening *crack* split the night—not thunder, but the sound of old wood splintering. Through the rain-streaked glass, Vinny saw the distant oak tree's trunk split down the middle, its gnarled branches whipping violently as though caught in a tornado no one else could feel.
His mark *burned*, the pain so sudden and intense his knees buckled. Deborah caught him before he could hit the ground, her arms wrapping around his waist as she hauled him upright. The contact sent a different kind of heat through him—one that had nothing to do with the cursed symbol on his skin and everything to do with the way her breath hitched when their bodies pressed together.
Lena's lip curled. "Cute. But save the reunion for *after* we don't die." She yanked open a rusted supply closet, revealing an assortment of old gardening tools—and a long, wicked-looking knife tucked between bags of fertilizer.
Deborah stiffened. "Where the hell did you get that?"
"Stole it from culinary arts last week." Lena tested the blade against her thumb, drawing a thin line of blood. "Figured we'd need it eventually."
Vinny's vision swam. The mark's glow pulsed in time with the distant tree's unnatural thrashing, each flare sending fresh waves of agony up his arm. He could *feel* her coming—the Lady of Roots—her presence like oil spreading across water.
Deborah's hands framed his face, forcing him to focus on her. "Vinny. Look at me." Her blue eyes were fierce in the gloom. "What do you remember? *Anything.*"
Fragments flickered at the edges of his mind—Deborah's laughter echoing down empty hallways, the press of her lips against his in the shadow of the old oak, her whispered *"I love you"* the night before everything went wrong. Each memory was a shard of glass, beautiful and cutting.
"Enough," he rasped.
Lena snorted. "Great. So you remember making puppy eyes at her. That'll *really* help when—"
The greenhouse door exploded inward.
Not from wind. Not from the hollow thing.
From *roots*.
Thick, blackened tendrils burst through the doorway, shattering glass and twisting metal like tinfoil. They moved with terrifying purpose, slithering across the floor toward them, their surfaces glistening with something that looked too much like saliva.
Deborah dragged Vinny backward just as one lashed out, barely missing his throat. Lena didn't flinch. She brought the knife down in a sharp arc, severing the nearest root clean in two. Black sap oozed from the wound, hissing as it hit the concrete.
"Move!" she shouted.
They ran for the broken windows, glass crunching underfoot. Vinny's lungs burned, his marked arm screaming with every step. Behind them, the roots gave chase, their progress slowed but not stopped by Lena's attacks.
The storm outside was a living thing now—rain falling in sideways sheets, lightning illuminating the sky in strobes of violet and green. The oak tree was barely visible through the downpour, but Vinny could *feel* it, its presence like a hook buried deep in his chest, reeling him in.
Deborah skidded to a stop near the science wing's back entrance, her chest heaving. "What's the plan? Because 'stab it' isn't cutting it!"
Lena wiped blood from her brow. "We need to reach the tree. It's the only way to end this."
Vinny's stomach dropped. "You want us to walk *toward* the murderous tree?"
"No." Lena's smile was all teeth. "I want you to *run.*"
Another root burst through the greenhouse roof, this one thicker than Vinny's thigh. It swung wildly, smashing into the brick wall beside them with enough force to send debris flying. A chunk grazed Vinny's temple, warm blood immediately trickling down his cheek.
Deborah's cry of alarm was drowned out by the storm. She reached for him, but Lena was faster, her fingers closing around his marked wrist with bruising force.
"*Now* do you understand?" she hissed. "She doesn't just want you dead. She wants you *broken.*"
The roots surged forward again. No time to argue. No time to think.
Vinny grabbed Deborah's hand and *ran*.
The quad was a nightmare of wind and water, the rain so thick it was hard to breathe. Every step sent fresh agony through his mark, the silver lines now burning white-hot against his skin. The tree loomed ahead, its split trunk yawning open like a mouth.
Deborah's grip tightened. "Vinny—"
"I know," he gasped.
He did. Somewhere in the shattered pieces of his memory, he *knew* what waited for them at that tree. Knew what the Lady truly was. Knew why she'd taken their memories—not to weaken them, but to *protect* them from the truth.
The roots closed in from all sides, herding them toward the oak like wolves circling prey. Lena fought like a demon, her knife flashing in the storm-dark, but even she couldn't hold them all back. One wrapped around her ankle, yanking her off her feet. She screamed—a raw, furious sound—before disappearing beneath the writhing mass.
"*Lena!*" Vinny lunged for her, but Deborah pulled him back.
"Look!"
The roots weren't attacking them anymore. They'd gone still, coiled like snakes ready to strike. Waiting.
From the depths of the split trunk, a figure emerged.
Not the hollow thing wearing Daniel's face.
Not the Lady of Roots.
But a girl.
Small. Pale. Her dark hair plastered to her skull by the rain, her school uniform hanging off her too-thin frame.
Sheila.
Or something wearing her skin.
Her eyes—once warm brown—were black from lid to lid, her smile stretching far too wide. When she spoke, her voice was wrong—layered with something ancient and hungry.
*"Little bridge,"* she crooned. *"You came home."*
Deborah made a broken sound. Vinny's mark *screamed*.
And the roots struck.