Ethan looked at the unconscious cadet.
What the hell were you doing in the woods at night?
He already knew the answer. These were Kruger's people. The man had wounded pride and ten cadets who'd trained for six months and apparently that combination had seemed like a good reason to go wandering into the dark.
If they'd just left after losing the campground argument none of this would have happened.
He let his mental reach expand outward — slow at first, then covering ground fast, pushing out through the trees in every direction. Miles of woods in seconds. He swept through it looking for anything alive that shouldn't be.
Nothing.
Whatever did this was already gone.
What he did find was the bodies. One instructor. Nine cadets. Spread through the woods in different spots, which meant they'd been picked off while running rather than caught together. Mutilated. Nothing left that resembled what they'd been an hour ago.
"Poor souls," Ethan said quietly. "Wrong night to go looking for trouble."
He picked up the unconscious cadet with a massive red hand that materialized out of thin air, while Enid still clung to him with both arms.
***
Half a mile deeper into the woods, Tyler pressed himself flat against a tree trunk, chest heaving. He'd seen it the moment his form changed — two red points of light cutting through the darkness from the direction of the camp.
Ethan's eyes. Visible from distance even through the trees.
Tyler's grip tightened on the bark.
Baphomet's hand came down on his shoulder and pushed, hard, forcing him lower.
"Don't," Baphomet said quietly. "If he finds us right now the only thing waiting at the end of that is him putting both our faces in the ground. We're not ready." He kept the pressure on.
"Run. Now. We'll have our moment. Not tonight."
Tyler stared at the red glow between the trees.
Every part of him that was still Hyde wanted to go toward it.
He turned and ran the other way.
At the campsite, Weems was halfway through her second glass when the tent flap opened.
She looked up.
Ethan stood in the entrance dragging an unconscious cadet by the collar, Enid attached to him like a koala — arms around his neck, legs around his waist, showing no immediate intention of letting go. Both of them were looking at her late night wine setup with the same expression.
"Did I interrupt something?" Ethan asked.
Weems looked at the unconscious cadet on the ground. Then at Enid. Then at the wine glass in her hand, which suddenly felt less justified than it had sixty seconds ago.
"I'm more concerned about what you're dragging," she said.
"Fair." Ethan let the cadet down. "Do you want the good news or the bad news?"
Weems set the glass down slowly.
"How bad is the bad news?"
"Well," Ethan said, with the expression of someone about to ruin someone else's evening, "that depends on how you feel about dead cadets."
Weems's eyes went wide. "What happened?"
"Well," Ethan said, "we were walking and ran into this one sprinting through the woods like something was right behind him. Barely conscious. So we grabbed him and brought him here."
"And the bad news in all of that?"
Weems already had a bad feeling. She could tell from his expression that she was right to.
"The other nine cadets," Ethan said. "And the instructor. They're dead. Organs spread across the woods in various locations." He paused.
"So to summarize — there are ten Normie deaths scattered around the campground where the outcasts are currently camping."
"That's the bad news," he said. "For us specifically."
Weems closed her eyes for a moment. Breathed. The kind of slow controlled breath that meant she was keeping something in rather than letting it out.
If this went public — when it went public — every finger in Jericho was going to point straight at Nevermore. It always did. It always would.
"There is good news though," Ethan said. "We have a live witness who saw whatever did this. So at minimum we can confirm it wasn't us."
He lifted the cadet slightly and dropped him back on the floor.
Weems looked at the cadet. Then looked harder.
Both cheeks were visibly swollen.
She looked at Ethan.
"I tried to wake him up," Ethan said. "Slapping didn't work. Whatever he saw was bad enough that his brain just — opted out. He's going to need medical attention. Possibly therapy. Probably both."
Weems pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Right," she said. "Well. As principal I'll be handling—"
"Great." Ethan turned for the exit. "Good talk."
"Where exactly do you think you're going?" Her voice had the specific flatness of someone who was done being surprised tonight. "You're the primary witness. When the police get here they're going to want to speak with you."
Ethan stopped. Pointed at Enid, who was still attached to him, face buried in his shoulder, saying nothing.
"Traumatized wolf," he said. "She saw the organs up close. I need to go handle that first."
Weems looked at Enid.
Enid made a small sound that confirmed she was not okay.
Weems sighed.
"Be back in twenty minutes," she said.
"Sure," Ethan said, which meant nothing.
After Ethan left, Weems looked down at the unconscious cadet lying on the floor of her tent.
She picked up her wine glass. Set it back down without drinking from it.
This was supposed to be a smooth trip. Two days, fresh air, supervised activities, nothing complicated. She had planned it carefully.
She had accounted for the usual Nevermore variables. She had even brought wine, which she now realized had been optimistic of her.
Ten dead civilians in the woods. Police incoming.
And camp was cancelled.
She was going to have to make a lot of phone calls tonight.
***
A/N: And on Patreon, The Boys arc started.
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