The mask was cold against your skin, the sharp beak pressing against your nose as you fastened the leather straps behind your head. Kayleigh was beside you, her movements silent and precise. The carved bird masks had become a ritual—part of Amber’s orders, part of the control.

“Keep the perimeter clear,” Amber’s voice had said earlier, her tone honey-sweet but laced with command. “The island sleeps best when watched.”

Now, under the pale blue light of the moon, you and Kayleigh stood by the edge of the forest. The air was heavy with mist, and every sound felt amplified—the rustle of leaves, the whisper of the sea, the synchronized rhythm of your breathing beneath the masks.