Chapter 30 · Don't Let Her Smell It

"Why does everything smell so loud?"

Amy's climbing out of the well and her eyes are wrong. Not crying-red. Hunter-red. The kind I see in the mirror when I haven't fed in three days.

I'm backing up before I can stop myself. She's nine years old, soaked through, shaking like a leaf—but I know what I made. I shoved my wrist in her mouth and now she's—

"Qin?" Her voice cracks. "I can hear people's hearts."

Edith's already moving. She cuts between Amy and the main camp so fast I barely see it. Fiddle music's drifting over from the fires. Laughter. They don't know yet.

"Walk slow," Edith says. Not to me. To Amy. "Don't run. Don't look at the camp."

Amy takes one step and trips over nothing. I catch her elbow and she flinches so hard I almost drop her. Her skin's cold. Getting colder.

"I'm hungry," she whispers. "I'm really, really hungry."

"I know." Edith points at the tree line. "Shed. Now."

I half-drag Amy toward the old supply shed. Edith kicks the door open, lights a lantern, keeps it low. Inside smells like rust and leather and decades of rot.

Amy sits on a crate.