At the bottom of the steps leading up to camp, Miles stopped and took a few whiffs of the fresh air. It was warmer down here, muggier, even, and a few beads of sweat gathered over his skin, under his sweater. But he wouldn't remove it—with its long sleeves, it provided protection over his arms, just in case.

Grasping the machete tight in one hand, he used his other to gauge the direction he needed to take. Where was Kera? Where would she be hiding, if she'd managed to survive until now?

The cave was still an option. He turned slightly towards the passage that would lead him to the beach, where he'd have to navigate carefully on the sand until he reached the cavern, avoiding the poisoned waters. But it was a long trek, and he didn't have that Kera had it in her to go that far. Especially alone, and more so if she was trying to get out.

Would she have stayed in the woods, dwelling in its depths, working to trick the monsters who lived there? Climb up the trees and make a nest for herself on the branches? It'd be foolish, if not downright stupid of her to attempt to evade them in their own territory.

Somehow, Miles felt like that was exactly what she'd do.

"No," he said, flipping towards the main pathway, the one his and Kera's steps had forged into the dirt from all the times they'd gone back and forth. "She's at the boundary, I'll bet. Still waiting, still screaming for help—if the monsters haven't already murdered her, that is."

Or maybe she'd been trapped there, unable to make a move without being devoured by the hairy creatures who wanted to stop her from plotting against the gods. She was starved, feeding on tree leaves and grass, losing energy by the minute...

Miles grunted, erasing the image of a dying Kera from his mind.

Either way, the barrier seemed to be the best place to begin.

Resolved, he took off in the direction of the forest's exit. His shoulders tensed the deeper he wandered into the woods, passing trees with scrape marks and bits of bark in the grass. Lowering under hanging branches and whooshing past vines that he expected to smash into his face.

Or to nail me to a tree, like they did to Ms. Moreno.

He shuddered, shouldering on, but anticipating an attack at any moment. After all, why would they let him get any closer to Kera? They knew what she was thinking, what she was up to; surely they'd want to prevent Miles from meeting up with her?

The farther he went, the more he felt he might not be able to go back to the camp. The ruler had figured it out, by then, no doubt. She'd been watching him closely, told Jessa to help him out, but where was she now? Hovering over the woods, scanning within them, searching for Miles?

Would the ruler stop him? Let things play out? Maybe she was a curious being, and was testing Miles, checking to see what he'd do if he did indeed catch up with Kera. Maybe she was waiting to see if he'd kill her, offer her up to the gods—or if he'd take her side.

At every turn, every junction of dirt pathways and chunky trees, Miles expected to hear the growls, to start witnessing the gloomy, yellow eyes that Kera had witnessed. He kept his arms tight to his sides and gripped the machete in preparation, sensing he'd have to use it sooner or later, if—and when—the monsters sought to pounce on him.

Because they would, wouldn't they? Why they hadn't yet was puzzling to Miles. He was like Kera, though he maintained a better poker face about it. He, too, wanted to get out, and was working on the inside to do so; but that made him no different from Kera. He hoped to dismantle this island's careful, cruel system, and thus the ruler would sick her creatures on him any moment, wouldn't she?

But so far, he'd encountered nothing but a few bugs that had flown into his eyes, and something that looked like a wild fox, but it had steered clear of him. No growling, no sightings of claws or hairy bodies, and no yellow eyes.

It didn't make sense. Were his intentions not strong enough? Was he too good at hiding his emotions? Or was the ruler not able to seep into his thought stream like she'd done to Jessa and Kera?

Maybe she can only possess women?

It could have been the violence, the rage roaring within him. He was always friendly on the outside, but inside, Miles was an unsettled, restless man who wanted answers to everything and would stop at nothing to get them. Including stand back and watch as underage college-goers partied and got drunk and drugged themselves up. He'd observe them for his own motives, for his own experiments, and more than once had seen kids get so fucked up they were in the hospital for weeks.

And he did nothing.

That, in a sense, was a form of violence. Quiet violence. One that he'd let stew inside him. A violence against the society he was raised in, against those who opposed science, against those who didn't think he'd get far in life. Spoiled rotten and handed everything—he should have been a happy guy, and yet, he was eternally unsatisfied.

All that untouched anger was likely preventing the monsters from coming after him. They smelled his potential; they knew he was a good fit here, no matter how badly he didn't want to be. So all his negative emotions were masking his feelings and keeping him hidden from the gods, weren't they?

There was something else, another emotion prodding at him, a memory of words spoken to him. Words that had shocked him, disgusted him.

Jessa's comments, as she'd given him the machete.

"You're important, Miles. Very important. To the ruler, to the gods."

Was that why the monsters weren't surveilling his every move, bracing to tear him apart? Because the gods favored him, because he was physically the strongest, like Jessa had said, and there was something about him that the gods liked? They wanted him to participate, to be active in the hunting and the moonlight fucking. They wanted him.

But why? Miles was no more special than anyone else. He was smart, organized, ready for anything, good at keeping himself calm during stressful times and emergencies. Not skills that the gods were looking for. What did they see in him that he'd missed? That violence raging on in his heart, his gut—was it stronger than he'd thought, and the gods were praying for him to unleash it and entertain them?

The closer he got to the blockade, the more chills cascaded down his spine. His legs were coated in sweat, and the back of his neck was rigid with anxiety. He'd nearly dropped the machete on several occasions, as he allowed his mind to play out all sorts of scenarios of what awaited him if he were to succumb to the gods' desires, if he were to let loose and do as they asked. And worse—what would happen to him if he refused, and attempted to help Kera, instead.

The sparkly barrier came into view, and he squinted at it, having been deprived of light for the past hour or so. The leaves were thick overhead, swallowing up the sky, and at the sight of the wall his eyes burned. He rubbed them, then stopped at a considerable distance where he'd have a decent vantage point to spot anyone lurking about. He hid behind a large tree and, gripping it, he leaned to the side and scoured the forest border, bush to bush, tree to tree.

She wasn't there. No one was there.

The stench of death remained—the sourness of decay, the coppery tint of blood staining the ground. An overall air of tension and dread lingered, causing Miles to grimace as he scanned the area again and again.

The only noticeable difference from yesterday was that Ms. Moreno's body had been removed from the tree. A dark smear outlined the silhouette of her lower half over the trunk, where she'd continued to bleed even after she'd expired.

Where was her body? Not that he'd wanted to see her again, not in the state he'd left her in. But she'd been pinned pretty high on that tree, and didn't look accessible to just about anyone. Had the gods taken her down? Had they thrown her to their beasts, and her mangled carcass was nearby, rotting on the forest floor?

Or had Mr. Reynolds fetched her, taken her back to the other side, somehow? The tree was half in the forbidden side, half out.

"How could he have done it without trespassing?"

Needing answers, Miles moved out from behind his tree and tiptoed towards the barrier. He got so close he heard it buzzing in his ears, as if lightly humming at him, lulling him closer. Daring him to brave past it, to try to escape—and to turn up chopped up like others had been.

"Nope." He snickered at the sparkly pink surface. "You're not getting me. I'll find another way. A better way." He cringed, hoping he hadn't said that too loud—

A rustle in the bushes, to his left, drew him to action. He lowered into a fighting stance and raised his machete, aiming it towards the noise.

"Who the fuck is there?" His heart raced, and he was unable to tell if the bushes had been ruffled inside the forbidden side, or outside it.

A figure appeared from behind a shrub, on the safe side of the island, arms up in surrender. A girl, who couldn't be much older than sixteen, maybe seventeen. Short, skinny, her cheeks sullen.

"Hey, it's okay, don't cut me up," she said, trembling. She had shiny, tanned skin and bright blue eyes that stunned Miles into silence as she came as close to the barrier as she could without touching it.

Miles had never seen her. Had she been on the plane with the rest of them? There was no way she was in college; she barely looked like she'd made it to high school.

"Who are you?" He lowered his weapon, figuring she wasn't much of a threat, not if she was on the other side. She likely wouldn't hop through and join his crew, and in truth, he wasn't sure it was possible to even enter the forbidden side while that barrier was activated. No getting in, no getting out.

The girl let her arms fall to her sides. "No one," she said, peering left to right, giving off the vibe that she was afraid of being watched, listened to. She was still shaking. "A friendly messenger, nothing more."

"A friendly messenger? From where?" Miles tightened his grip on the machete. "Who sent you?"

"From here. I live here, on the island." She flinched, then hugged herself, still gazing about as if expecting someone to jump out and tackle her. "No one sent me; I'm a messenger for no one but myself."

Miles narrowed his gaze on her. Someone who lived there, on that island? On the good side? Maybe she was the daughter of the caretaker, or a girl born from former captives and who somehow got out of the bad side. A lurker, who crept around the main camp stealing food and dwelled in a hut off the beach, away from everyone else.

Or maybe she was an illusion, and Miles was wearier than he'd thought.

"I saw it all happen," she said, her voice dropping in volume. "All of it. From the moment you arrived, to now, I've been watching. Every move, every conversation within hearing distance."

Miles couldn't take his eyes off her. She was so small, so fragile—and easily concealable. Inside bushes, up trees, she surely knew how to camouflage herself if she lived on the island and knew all its secrets.

All its secrets? Wait—can she get us out?

"Before you ask, no, I can't get you out." She dropped her chin but her focus was on Miles. "I'm an inhabitant here, but I have no power over whatever happens... over there," she pointed behind Miles, "in those depths. But like I said, I saw it all. I've been seeing it all. The entire discussion between that girl... Kera, is her name? And Mr. Reynolds." She shivered. "Whenever he comes here, I hide. I hate him."

Miles snorted. "You and me both, kid." He motioned for her to go on.

She fidgeted, entwining and twirling her fingers. "I've never been able to help, but I'm done sitting back and watching people die. People seeking to get out and losing limbs for it. Sick of him getting some twisted satisfaction out of abandoning students here to their fates. It's not fair. It's not... right. I think it's super messed up."

"How long?" Goosebumps prickled along Miles' skin as he began to wonder if this girl was a girl, or if she was some magical creature belonging to the island. There were possessive rulers and mysterious gods; who knew what else hid in the dreary confines of this place? "How long have you stood by and watched?"

The girl frowned at him, though without menace. "Too long. I've seen enough. We have to do something."

Miles shrugged, taking a step back, away from the girl. A silent observer who'd viewed Mr. Reynolds' heinous acts and done nothing to stop them until today? A person who'd been privy to all their conversations, but never stepped in to give them any warnings?

This is weird.

"Sure, but what? I," he pressed a thumb to his chest, "can't do anything, because I'm stuck in here. And you," he winced, "what can you do? Especially if you've sat on the sidelines until now."

The girl held up a finger, telling Miles to give her a second. She shimmied off to the side, back into the bush she'd come from—did she live in the bush?—and returned with a large, ragged notebook. One of those spiral-bound, college notebooks that Miles had several copies of at home, in his room. And in his dorm.

"What's that?" The cover was ripped in places, and the pages were barely hanging on.

The girl tossed it through the veil, and it surprisingly didn't blow up or get torn to pieces or burst into flames. It landed at Miles' feet, but he recoiled from it, unsure whether to touch it.

"It's fine," said the girl, gesturing towards it. "It belongs, well, belonged to that lady who got glued to the tree. The pretty, science one."

Miles gulped, staring down at the battered notebook, then back at the girl. "Ms. Moreno? This was hers?"

The girl nodded. "When I decided to start helping, I rummaged through her stuff, in her cabin. She'd been here before, and I recognized the skepticism on her, you know?" She offered a weak smile. "Not like the other professors, and definitely not like Mr. Reynolds. Something about her told me she didn't like this shit any more than I did."

"No, but seriously..." Miles blinked at her. "Who are you?"

"It doesn't matter." The girl again gestured at the notebook, more frantically this time. "Take it. Read it. Trust me, it's got some gems in there. Ms. Moreno... she found out some interesting stuff that might do you some good. You might want to read that, thoroughly."

Miles hesitated, but let go of his machete as he bent down to retrieve the notebook from the ground. A bit of dirt stuck to the back cover, so he wiped it off with his sleeve. Remaining crouched, he opened the notebook, and on the first page, a message was scribbled.

"Current conclusions, notes, information about Paradise Island and its residents."

The fact that the word residents was underlined made Miles shudder. It implied that said residents weren't regular residents at all—and Ms. Moreno had figured that out.

"Okay, well..." Miles groaned as he inched back up to a standing position and stretched. "I'll have to study this and see if she put in anything useful, but—"

He paused, noticing that the girl was gone. Vanished. Where she'd been settled moments before was an empty space, nothing but air. As if she'd never been there at all.

"Huh?" Miles scratched his forehead. "Girl? Where are you?" He looked sideways at the bush she'd come out of, but it wasn't moving, didn't seem to be inhabited. Wherever she'd run off to, it was far from Miles' sight—and she'd been so swift, so quiet, Miles hadn't even realized she'd left.

Had he hallucinated her? No—he felt the book in his hands and squeezed it. It was real, the girl had been real.

But maybe she wasn't a simple girl. Maybe she was indeed some otherworldly creature who meant to help him.

Whoever she was, she'd given Miles a chance, flimsy at best, at figuring out how the hell to depart this nightmare of an island.

"Well, thanks," he said, tipping an invisible hat towards where the girl had been seconds before. "Let's see if this is useful."