Chapter 16 · Walking the Dead's Road

Ivy's hands wouldn't stop shaking.

She'd been staring at the ground for the past twenty minutes, watching the silver prints bloom and fade, bloom and fade. The dead left marks. Always had. But now they were changing. The old prints—farmhands, hunters, the woman who'd died clutching her baby—were rotating. Slowly. Like compass needles finding north.

They were all pointing west. Toward the village.

No. Not the village.

Toward something in it.

"Ivy." Cole's voice cut through the haze. He'd stopped walking. "You're doing it again."

She blinked. Her knees were locked. She'd been standing in the middle of the forest path for god knows how long, just staring at the ground. Taker was a few paces ahead, watching her with that unreadable expression he always wore. The faint moonlight caught the edge of his jaw. Made him look carved out of stone.

"Sorry." Her voice came out hoarse. "I'm fine."

"You're not." Cole stepped closer. Kept his voice low. "What are you seeing?"

Everything.

Too much.

She saw Cole's prints beneath his boots. Bright silver. Still alive. But threaded through them, faint as spider silk, were other prints. His prints.