The swing set was a skeleton of rusted iron rising out of the sea of weeds. It hadn’t been painted since 1995, the industrial yellow peeling away to reveal the red oxidation underneath, like skin flaying from bone.
I stood near the center pole, the wet grass soaking through my boots. The fog here was a physical presence, a wall of white that tasted of ozone and damp wool. It muffled the world, turning the silence into a pressurized ringing in my ears.
“I’m here,” I whispered, though I knew he couldn’t hear me yet.
I checked the revolver in my pocket one last time. My hand was slick with sweat and rain. Five shots. No safety.
I didn’t want to use it.
I wanted to save him.
The memory of the coal cellar was still burning in my mind—the boy who had taken a dog bite for me, who had killed a man to stop him from hurting me. He was a monster, yes. But he was my monster. And I had created him.
If I could just talk to him. If I could reach through the layers of trauma and delusion, maybe I could talk him down. Maybe I could stop the Wedding before the guests arrived.
Clink.
The sound of a chain hitting a metal pole.
I spun around.
The fog swirled, parting like a curtain.
He was there.
He stood by the far end of the swing set, one hand resting on the rusted A-frame. He looked even bigger than he had in the cellar. The barn coat added bulk to his frame, making him look like a mountain that had decided to walk.
He wasn’t wearing a mask. His face was exposed, raw and ruined by the elements. The scar on his jaw shone white in the gloom.
“Princess?”
His voice was a rough exhale, trembling with a vulnerability that terrified me more than a roar.
“I’m here, Elias,” I said, keeping my voice steady. I took a slow step forward. “I came alone. Just like you asked.”
He stepped out from the support beam. He was limping slightly—I must have broken a toe when I stomped on his hand in the cellar. He held his left hand curled against his chest, cradling it.
But his right hand was extended toward me.
“I knew you would come,” he said. A smile broke across his face, jagged and painful. “The Bad Prince tried to keep you, but you ran. You ran to me.”
“I remember now,” I said, inching closer. “I remember the dog. I remember the roof.”
He nodded eagerly, his eyes wide and wet. “The Dragon. We stopped the Dragon.”
“We did,” I agreed. “You saved me.”
He let out a sob, a wet, hitching sound. “I waited so long, Elara. The walls were so quiet. I watched you sleep, but you never woke up. You just left.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. And I meant it. The guilt was a stone in my throat. “I didn’t know you were there. I thought you were gone.”
“I’m not gone,” he whispered. “I’m the King. And now we have to finish it. We have to get married.”
He took a step toward me. The smell hit me then—that potent mix of pine resin, unwashed skin, and the metallic tang of old blood.
“I brought the ring,” he said.
He opened his right hand.
I looked down.
Resting on his dirty, calloused palm was a finger.
It was pale, severed cleanly at the knuckle. The nail was painted a chipped, cherry red. And on the second joint, stuck fast by the swelling of death, was a ring.
A class ring. Oakhaven High, Class of 2004.
Becca Trent’s ring.
The bile rose in my throat, hot and acidic. I forced it down. I couldn’t scream. If I screamed, I broke the spell.
“It fits,” he said proudly. “I checked. She didn’t need it anymore. She peeked.”
He took another step. He was close now. Too close. I could see the madness swimming in his eyes, a swirling vortex of love and violence.
“Give me your hand,” he said. “I’ll put it on you. Then we go to the Castle. The guests are waiting.”
“Elias,” I said, my voice trembling. “We don’t need the guests. We don’t need the ring. Just… just stay here with me. Let’s sit on the swings. Like we used to.”
He frowned, confusion clouding his face. “But the ceremony… the script…”
“We can write a new script,” I said. “Just us. No more hurting people. Please.”
I slowly took my hand out of my pocket. I didn’t draw the gun. I held my hand out, palm up, empty.
“Take my hand, Elias.”
He stared at my hand. Then at my face.
The hand holding the finger lowered slightly. His expression softened. The monster receded, and for a heartbeat, I saw the boy who had shared a Snickers bar with me through a vent.
“You promise?” he whispered. “Cross your heart?”
“Cross my heart,” I said.
He reached out. His fingers brushed mine. His skin was rough, like sandpaper, but his touch was incredibly gentle.
Woooop-Woooop.
The siren cut through the fog like a knife.
Elias froze.
It wasn’t a distant wail. It was close. Right at the entrance to the park.
Blue and red lights exploded in the mist behind me, turning the white fog into a strobing nightmare of violet and crimson.
Woooop-Woooop.
“Elara Vance!” A voice boomed over a loudspeaker. “Step away from the suspect! Armed police!”
I spun around. Two cruisers had pulled up onto the grass, their headlights blinding us.
“No!” I screamed, turning back to Elias. “No, I didn’t—”
The look on his face stopped the words in my throat.
The softness was gone. The hope was obliterated.
In its place was a betrayal so profound it looked like physical agony. His eyes went wide, then narrowed into slits of pure, molten rage.
“Liar,” he hissed.
“Elias, I didn’t call them! I swear!”
“You brought the Bad Prince!” he roared. He threw the severed finger at me. It hit my chest with a wet thud and fell into the grass.
“Freeze!” Julian’s voice. I recognized it instantly. He was out of the car, running toward us.
Elias didn’t freeze.
He lunged. Not at me. At the swing set.
He grabbed the side pole with his good hand and vaulted over the top bar with a strength that seemed impossible for a man his size. He landed on the other side, in the tall grass leading to the drainage ditch.
“Elias, wait!” I shouted, running toward the frame.
He turned back for one second. Just one.
“You’re not the Princess,” he snarled, his voice cracking. “You’re the Dragon.”
Then he was gone. Swallowed by the fog and the dark.
“Elara, get down!”
Julian tackled me. We hit the wet earth hard, the air leaving my lungs in a whoosh. He rolled us over, shielding me with his body, his service weapon—wait, no, he had surrendered his weapon—he was holding a shotgun. A police issue riot gun.
“Where is he?” Julian shouted, scanning the mist.
“He ran!” I gasped, shoving Julian off me. “Why are you here? You promised! You said twenty-four hours!”
Julian looked at me, his face a mask of anguish. “Miller found the truck missing. He put out the APB. I couldn’t let you face him alone, Elara. He would have killed you.”
“He was holding my hand!” I screamed, scrambling to my feet. “I had him! I almost had him!”
“He had a body part in his hand, Elara!” Julian yelled back, gesturing to the grass where the finger lay. “He’s not a pet you can tame! He’s a killer!”
More doors slammed. Flashlights cut through the fog. Sheriff Miller was jogging toward us, gun drawn, flanked by three deputies.
“Clear left! Clear right!” Miller barked.
I looked toward the drainage ditch. The darkness was absolute.
He was gone.
And he wasn’t coming back to talk. Not anymore.
I had broken the pact. I had crossed my heart and lied.
The Sandman didn’t protect liars. He sewed their eyes shut.
“Cuff her,” Miller ordered, pointing at me.
Julian stepped in front of me. “Sheriff, she was bait. She was helping us.”
“She stole a vehicle and fled custody,” Miller spat. “And she just tipped off our suspect. Cuff her, Thorne, or I’ll cuff you both.”
Julian turned to me. “Elara…”
“Don’t,” I said, stepping back. I looked at the swing set. The chains were still swinging slightly from the force of Elias’s vault.
I reached into my pocket and wrapped my hand around the stone.
He was going to the Sawmill. He had said it on the phone. The Castle.
He was going to get the guests ready. And now that the Bride had rejected him… the Wedding was going to be a funeral.
“He’s going to the Sawmill,” I said to Julian.
“What?”
“The Old Sawmill. That’s his castle. That’s where he’s taking the bodies.”
Miller laughed. “The Sawmill? That place is a fortress. We cleared it three years ago. It’s empty.”
“He’s been living in my walls for twenty years, you idiot!” I shouted at the Sheriff. “You think you know what empty looks like?”
I turned to Julian. “Please. If you ever loved me. If you ever loved him. Go to the Sawmill. Before he starts the ceremony.”
Julian looked at me. Then at Miller.
He made a choice.
“Miller,” Julian said, his voice hard. “Take the squad to the Sawmill. Secure the perimeter.”
“I’m not taking orders from a suspended deputy,” Miller sneered.
“Then take them from the guy who knows where the bodies are,” Julian said. He raised the shotgun. Not at Miller. But at the sky.
BOOM.
He fired a round into the air. The sound was deafening.
“We have an active shooter situation!” Julian yelled into his shoulder radio. “Suspect fleeing toward the industrial park! Requesting all units!”
Miller stared at him, mouth agape.
“Go!” Julian roared.
Miller cursed, signaled his men, and ran back to the cars.
Julian turned to me. “Get in my truck. You’re still under my custody.”
“You’re arresting me?”
“No,” he said, grabbing my arm and dragging me toward his vehicle. “I’m taking you to the wedding.”