I am screaming.

It screams back. It is a high-pitched, aggressive sound, threatening to bust my eardrums. It is a sound that could cause a heart to seize, breaths to suspend in lungs. It is an all-consuming, all-encompassing screech that freezes the very blood in my veins.

"Sophie!" Luke yells from somewhere behind me. His usually deep voice is strained and high-pitched. Terrified. I am an ice sculpture, frozen in place. My fear has petrified me—I cannot even blink.

My feet are rooted to the ground, even as the monster leans in so close; I can smell its rotten breath, its mouth still open in a wail. The teeth glisten, coated in foamy saliva. Then it crouches, the muscles in its legs bundled, and leaps. It sails over my head and only when I hear its clawed feet land behind me can I bring my limbs to move. I whip around, my eyes huge and tearful, mouth agape. I cannot believe what I'm seeing.

The creature is standing between me and a bare-chested Luke, its arms spread wide and grotesque back to me. My eyes flick from the bony spine to Luke's slick arms, which are pulling his bow taught, an arrow pointed straight at the creature's skull.

But it doesn't flinch. Instead, it lets out a hiss, pulling its gums back over its teeth, jaw opening impossibly wide.

With a quick slip of fingers, Luke releases his arrow. Forty pounds of power and a needle-sharp tip of steel sinks into the beast's skull. The sound of splintering bone causes my stomach to lurch in time with gravity as the monster falls to the ground, where it lies still and grotesque.

Luke moves quickly, dashing around me to the cave entrance. My eyes are glued to the ghastly thing before me, shocked into silence, but I hear his footsteps echo in the cavern, searching. Soon enough, he returns. I can hear his shoes skid to a stop on the packed dirt cavern floor.

Ripping my eyes away from the monstrosity on the ground, I take a shuddering breath as I look up to meet Luke's eyes. His image is distorted through my tear-blurred vision, but I focus on the green there, impossibly deep. There is a split second of awareness before he tosses his bow to the ground and crosses the room, eating up the distance between us in four long strides.

My next breath is squeezed from me when his arms wrap around my trembling shoulders. I sob into him as Luke hugs me tightly against him, holding me like something precious. A treasure. And despite walking for days in the woods, he smells so good. I can't help but bury my face in his chest, his warm skin against my cheek.

At my response, his arms slide lower, now around my back, but never let me go. I don't complain. So I wrap my arms around him, hugging his strong body to mine.

It is grounding.

I sigh, and one of his hands comes up to stroke my rain-soaked hair. I can feel his fingers trembling—he must have been as terrified as I was, and in this embrace, we both realize that we need each other. It is a need that both surprises and thrills me. It's like the feeling was there all along, just below the rippling surface, and just a glimpse of the entirety of it.

For the next few breaths, I focus on his caress and the staccato rhythm of his heart. Slowly, my other senses become clearer as well. I can smell the dry, dusty room. I hear the rain pounding against the ground outside. I can feel Luke's presence all around me. We stay just like that until my heartbeat slows and my tears are dry. Then, and only then, does he remove his arms from around me.

But he doesn't go far. Taking my face into his hands, he levels me with a look so shaken, so pained, I almost can't see the relief behind his eyes.

"Sophie," he croaks. I watch him lick his lips and clear his throat before continuing. "I was supposed to keep you safe."

I shake my head slightly, his hands barring me from much movement. "You are—you did. I'm just fine." I manage. His palm against my cheek is sticky with my tears. "What was that thing, Luke?"

He blinks. "Are you sure you're okay?"

I take his hands from my face and bring them down, holding them in my own. He slips his fingers between mine, intertwining them, and my cheeks heat at the intimacy. "I'm fine... thanks to you. I'm just a little overwhelmed. What was that... that... creature?" I venture again.

Luke frowns, some of the worry on his forehead replaced by confusion. We hold each other's gaze for a moment until a look of realization smooths the wrinkle between his eyebrows. "You really don't know, do you?"

My stomach drops. "Are you patronizing me?" I ask, defensive. I feel so fragile right now. After that terrifying moment, I vaguely feel like I'm dreaming, and I'm on the verge of waking. The receding adrenaline is almost dizzying.

"No, no," Luke corrects, squeezing my hands in his. "I just... It didn't occur to me that you wouldn't know. It doesn't make sense." His eyes go far-off, lost in thought. "Nothing makes sense."

"Please, just tell me," I choke. I can't stand it anymore.

Luke takes a breath, meeting my eyes with a seriousness that steadies my thumping heart. "They are lusus naturae. Monsters."

"I think I got the monsters part," I reply. "But what do they want? How do they exist? Why have I never heard of them?"

Luke's lips are pursed, like he either doesn't have the answer, or doesn't want to tell me the truth. I step a little closer to him and squeeze his fingers as he did a moment ago, coaxing him to spit it out. His eyes soften as he looks down at me.

"They're Skinwalkers, Sophie."

◊ ◊ ◊

I somehow end up on the floor of the little kitchen. The wooden floor there is cold and wet from us tracking the rain in, but it is steady. It doesn't move. It is constant, unlike the knowledge I thought I had.

Luke is behind me, and I blush as I realize I am leaning against him. His back is to the wall and we sit there in silence, the only sound is the rain pounding against the roof. I look around and rationalize that there is no other seating in this small room, unless you count the wooden counters that may or may not hold a person.

Skinwalkers. For days, I had them pictured as a group of rebel Outlanders, more wild than the villagers we encountered in Keir. Savage enough to pillage a township and rip people apart. Now I understand the resentment toward them. The hostility and anger and fear.

Most of all, I am confused. Why have we always been taught that Outlanders—the actual human beings—were the ones who were the most dangerous? Why were we lied to?

I sit up slowly and Luke shifts with me, his arm coming to rest around me. He hands me a canteen of water and although I'm not thirsty, I drink. At the very least, the routine of it helps to steady my nerves.

"I didn't mean to upset you," he says softly, as if I'd pass out again.

I cannot believe I fainted. How embarrassing.

I just shake my head, still too shocked for words. I hand him the canteen and he takes a swig as well. In the ensuing silence, a thousand questions run through my head. I twist to look at him and he's studying my face intensely. It almost makes me second guess opening my mouth.

"So that was a Skinwalker," I state finally. Saying it aloud helps me come to terms with the reality of it. It looked so... impossible. Fantastical. Something out of a child's story.

Luke nods, fidgeting with the wet sleeve of my shirt.

"There is something I cannot wrap my head around," he says. I watch as Luke idly plays with a loose string in contemplation. "I am perplexed as to why this Skinwalker was alone, by itself," Luke muses aloud. "Maybe the storm scared it into shelter? They usually travel in hordes."

Something triggers in my brain, like a candle illuminating a dark room for the first time.When I ran into Luke for the first time, I always thought there was something strange about his behavior. He was strangely cautious about the group of Outlanders fleeing from Herald. Scared the horde would hear us.

But he wasn't talking about a horde of Outlanders. He meant a horde of Skinwalkers.

I feel like such an idiot. All the pieces fall into place, snapping with a resounding click in my head. It's like all the signs were there and I still missed the turn.

Why didn't I pick up on it before? The all-known fact across the Outlands to be wary of the night, when villagers would be vulnerable in the dark. The constant fight for survival. Clive's reaction when I misspoke and called the creatures people. The generalized fear across the Outlands.

And not just that, but how did the truth get so twisted? How did Herald come to fear Outlanders instead of the true evil out there?

"It was all a lie," I whisper. My voice is so low that, for a moment, I don't think Luke hears me. But after a heartbeat, he slides his arm out from around me and takes my hand in his.

"I apologize if I have shocked you," Luke rumbles. I can't help but lift the corner of my lips—clearly he isn't well-versed in apologies, but it's endearing. I believe he actually means it. Luke doesn't seem like the type of person to do or say things he doesn't mean. There is purpose behind his every word and action. "I did not think... well, I suppose I assumed we both had a common enemy."

"It's not your fault," I say, squeezing his hand. Something in my chest flutters when he squeezes back. "I don't understand why the Council would keep this from us. Why blame anything on the Outlanders when the real problem is what plagues you all?"

Luke's lips thin into a contemplative line. "I do not understand much about your people, but I think the best place to find the answers may be found in Perseca."

I nod. Perseca. The old city where I must help to find a way to defeat the Skinwalkers.

"Where did those things even come from?"

Luke takes an audible breath. "They are the result of a freak accident. A species somewhere between human and animal." He frowns. "I am not the best at explaining this."

I probably look like a startled doe. The fact that I passed out a moment ago doesn't help my case.

Luke sighs and rubs his thumb over the back of my hand. "They've been here for generations... since before my great-grandfather was Summus," he explains. "I just want to live in a world where my people are no longer living in fear. Fear of starvation, death... and the Skinwalkers at the center of it all."

My heart swells for him. He is so young, yet feels so much responsibility. He carries the weight of all the hopes and dreams of Natio. He also bears the hardships and calamities which befall his people, and I can see the consequence of that written in his heart. I lean toward him and gently rest my head on his shoulder. I want to comfort him, but this is the only way I know how.

I can almost hear his heartbeat rattling in his chest. I watch the way his bare chest rises and falls with every breath and match my lungs to his. It is calming—grounding, to be in sync with another. I lift our joined hands and stare at them. My eyes follow the curves of our fingers. There are minute cracks and creases on his hand from years of work, or out here in the elements. His tanned skin drastically contrasts my own pale hand.

I am amazed at how two people from such different backgrounds could come together despite their differences. Over the past few days, we've worked as a team—navigating the land and sharing meals. Although I challenged him in the beginning, he's grown on me. He looks out for me, and every chance I have to learn something new, he obliges.

I don't realize I'm shivering until Luke says something. I probably need to get out of these wet clothes. He squeezes my hand and releases it, then sits up and helps me stand.

My stomach dips, and I mentally scold myself for it. This is not a vacation, nor some team-building retreat. We have a mission to carry out. I need to get to Perseca and get back to Markee with minimal distractions.

But what happens when my task is complete? My heart lurches at the thought, grateful that I have some time before I will have to part ways with Luke.