When the Fortress had granted her that merciful exile, Emma knew not what to expect. But she most definitely did not expect to find any hospitality, and most certainly not from the first people she would come across. The following morning, however, it seemed that Quinn and Sam had come to a decision about the lone nomad they came across in the woods, and they had deemed her suitable to become their third.

Yet still, Emma knew better than to accept what serendipitous luck she'd come across so quickly. No, there was a catch. There was always a catch. And hers came only two hours since the trio left the cave. The girls' final destination was unclear, but Emma had an inkling suspicion that Quinn and Sam knew exactly what their plan entailed and simply weren't quite ready to trust their new companion with the details. She couldn't blame them; if she'd been in their position she'd have never given the third stranger a chance.

"We should rest," Quinn had suggested as they came upon a few stones surrounding a hastily-made fire pit. Someone had clearly set up camp there in the past couple days, but there was no evidence that they may be returning soon. She reached for a plastic bottle from her backpack, taking a small sip of the lukewarm water she'd collected in the cave the previous night and offered it to Emma. "So what'd you do to piss off your whole group?"

"It doesn't matter," she shrugged, taking the bottle gratefully. "We all got separated, and the others didn't wait for me. It's what I'd have done, so it's fine."

"Damn, people are bitches," Quinn muttered. She then turned to Sam, who was seated to her left, tying her red hair into a ponytail, jaw tense and and gaze fixated on Emma. "What the hell is your deal?"

"Nothing," said the other girl, but the cold edge in her voice was undeniable. She didn't trust the stranger. Why should she? Even Emma thought Quinn was far too warm, too naive. But neither of the other girls had a chance to respond, for a high-pitched whistle pierced through the trees, shooting their heads up and adrenaline down their spines.

They scrambled to shove their belongings back into their bag and sprint away as surrounding figures began to close in around them. Emma could not fully discern what happened next, as the series of events became blurred by her rushing blood. All she knew was that someone had grabbed her by the back of the shirt and slammed her body against the tree. She was whipped around so that she faced the perpetrator, and felt the familiar cold metal of a knife held at her throat.

From the corner of her eye, she saw that Quinn and Sam were gone, and now there was a small crowd—seemingly all male— concentrated on her and her alone. Just as quickly as she had found a strange companionship, she was left behind. There was always a catch.

With her body pressed against the hard wood and cold metal, her heart began to race, every single beat magnified in her own head. The boy holding the weapon was standing right above her; she could feel his seething breaths. He was taller than her, perhaps even a foot greater, but in the heat of the moment he seemed to tower above her. His blonde hair was tied back into a man-bun she would have generally found amusing, but his eyes were aflame with rage, and the bones upon his cheeks and jaw were tense and sharp as the blade on her neck.

"What?" she challenged, attempting to regain her own breath and create some appearance of strength. It struck her that she wasn't afraid. If this was her end, then so be it. It would serve Sebastian right for his sister to have been murdered and it for it to all be his fault. "You want to kill me or something? Go the hell ahead."

"You're sure this is her?" asked one of the other boys. He seemed to be one of the oldest in the crowd, with a serious composure.

To his side, stood an Asian boy, skinny but around his same height. He nodded. "Cut her hair, but yeah."

The first boy took a step forward so that he stood beside the guy whose knife was at her throat. "So you thought you could go after us? The Knights? That's a ballsy move for some chick."

"You got it wrong," she said. "I'm not from here, I've never heard of your gang."

"That's bull!" called a different boy, but with the two right in front of her, she could no longer see the others.

The first one tried again, rolling his eyes. "The Knightmares?"

Her eyes widened slightly, but quickly narrowed again to that same cold glare. "Hold on, is your name actually that bad a pun? That's the dumbest shit I've ever heard—"

"Can I just kill her already?" the blonde boy asked, pressing the knife harder against her neck, causing it to nick her skin. She smiled, fueled with some strange pride that she'd bothered these boys so.

The other who seemed to be the leader of the group shook his head. "Clevis," he said. "Why?"

The smug smirk was instantly wiped away from her face. "Oh shit," she muttered. "For what it's worth I hadn't heard of you until last night."

"Why?" he repeated himself, voice growing harder and the other boy's knife pressing harder again. The blonde reached for her chin, tipping it up so that she could not squirm without the blade stealing her life. His fingertips were cold as ice.

In the Grove, in Peregrin, the rules of the woods was simple: honor and loyalty before all else. Snitches got stitches. If you had a deal, you would never dare rat out your partner. But she wasn't in the Grove anymore, and here her life was on the line, and she had killed that stranger for Miles who had ran and Sebastian...

Miles didn't carry through; he had ran. And she wasn't in the Grove. Who gave a shit about honor now anyways? Sebastian sure didn't.

"I was paid off," she said, and while the leader remained stoic and concentrated, the blonde scoffed.

"That's a fucking lie," he said. "She'll say anything to keep herself alive."

"By who?" the other asked, hardly paying attention to his friend's comment, but Emma saw that he was still considering that possibility. "For what?"

She took a deep breath. "Miles Gregory," she said. She hated being honest, being so straight-forward, but her life was on the line and Miles deserved it. That asshole couldn't even carry through, and she was not about to pay the price for his violent request that she was forced to perform. "We had to leave my camp. I made a deal with him that he'd help us get north if I'd carry out some task for him, which happened to be Jack Clevis. I don't know why. I didn't ask. But there's your answer."

"Miles Gregory," the one boy called over his shoulder. "Any of you heard of him?"

"Gregory," repeated someone else. "Did Michael have a brother?"

"I think he did," said another. "Does he even know Jordy's dead?"

"It wouldn't matter," hissed the boy with the knife. "We're still his people, he still wants revenge. Surprised it took this long for him to send someone after us."

"There's a Michael at Miles' base," Emma said, and all eyes were whipped back at her. She could feel as the boys all began to close in, daring her to continue, but anxious for what other information she could provide.

"And you were working with them."

"Miles was our only option," she continued.

"You keep saying 'our.' Where are the rest of your people? Those two girls that ran?" This was the leader speaking, the calm one, the man who kept his second from killing her on the spot.

"My people are gone. Look, all that is irrelevant. Miles screwed me over, and I want revenge same as you. They're at a truck stop a long way from here, but I can get you there."

"And how do we know you're not lying to us?" challenged the blonde boy, his body practically on hers now, his own head close to making contact with the tree behind her.

"You don't." The boys all turned to look at each other, but Emma felt the pressure from the knife lighten slightly. "You can kill me, but then you'll never find them, and this Michael guy will keep on picking you off, one by one."

"What's in it for you?"

"I get you there, I live. Simple."

"Stand down, Damien," the leader said to the blonde, and he stepped back as Emma inhaled sharply, then closing her eyes as she exhaled in relief. "I'm Mateo."

"Emma."

"Let's make this very clear, Emma," he began. His voice was powerful with conviction, and though he seemed more peaceful than the taller boy by his side, she fully realized that to cross Mateo would be catastrophic. "Until we find this Miles, you are our hostage. If you try to con us, try to run, you will regret it. We will find you, and you will pay. So if this is all a scam, I best suggest you own up to it now, because what Damien will do here is far more merciful than if you try to play a Knight. Understood?"

"Sounds great," Emma muttered. She should have been afraid of them—her mind told her that she should be afraid—but her heart beat had returned to its normal pace. Her eyes were wild with bravery, and she saw in the glare of all six boys that her confidence put them on edge. That victory, that power, only fueled her further. "Truck stop's headed south."