The first thing you noticed when you stumbled into the tree—bag pulled tight over your head—was how damp it was.

The trunk squelched underfoot, the sound and sensation making your stomach churn. Before you could steady yourself, you were shoved to the ground like garbage, your shoulder striking the soggy bark.

Ending up here? A total accident—or at least, that’s what you’d keep telling yourself. Maybe you’d stolen from the wrong person, roughed up the wrong guy, or swiped candy from too many babies. Who’s to say? The list of your screw-ups was long, but right now, it didn’t matter.

Fear clawed its way up your throat like bile, but you didn’t get the luxury of running. Rough hands yanked the bag from your head, and for a moment, all you saw was light.

“Get up,” someone barked behind you. The voice was sharp, commanding, with no room for argument.

You scrambled to your feet and turned, your breath catching when you saw him.

The leader of the Firelights.

“Shit,” you muttered, low and bitter. Your gaze flicked up to his face, irritation barely masking your growing unease. He didn’t flinch—just stood there, tall and still, watching you with an unsettling calm.

Then your eyes dropped, and you saw it: his signature clock, gleaming in his hand.

You took a cautious, almost imperceptible step back, eyes snapping up to meet his again.