I can't find Casimir in the street I last saw him. My pulse thumps in my throat peering into the street like he'll appear from thin air.

Has he already headed towards the marketplace? A heavy weight presses on my chest as I scan the forest edge. What if he went to the fields? What if he didn't hear the summoning? It doesn't matter what's happened between us; the council being here is a big deal, and I don't want either of us to face it alone.

I briefly consider hurrying home to check the cabin, but before I can make my way, someone calls my name. It's Cadence. She holds the skirt of her yellow dress up so she can move faster, her golden hair blowing wildly in the wind behind her.

"What're you doing?" she asks.

"I was looking for Casimir."

"Come on." She hooks her arm through mine. This close to her, I can feel the slight tremble in her body. "He's probably in the marketplace with everyone else. We must hurry."

I don't protest as she pulls me along. The sun blasts down on us as we reach the shaded marketplace. It's located on the outskirt of the village, a large clearing that narrows at the trodden path leaving the village. If you were to follow the path, it'd eventually lead you to the Elel mountains.

My pulse leaps in my throat as we get lost in the crowd. I can't see over the heads of people gathered, so I tug Cadence's arm and pull her towards the outside of the bakery stall. A couple of wooden boxes that usually hold produce are flipped upside down. I climb on top of one, peering over the heads of the villagers.

A semi-circle has been cleared at the edge, leaving a clear space by the narrowing of the path. A woman sits atop a large brown horse, a horn in her hand. I can't help but ogle at the horse, it's huge. There are very few horses in Veymaw. Jyro used to have one that worked in the fields pulling the heavy tools, but it was no taller than me. This woman's horse's muscles ripple beneath its skin.

Her hair is scooped into a low ponytail. She swings both legs over her horse to dismount, the dust rising around her as she hits the ground and scans the crowd wordlessly. It's the same woman who arrives before the council members do when they visit, her steely gaze a rival for Casimir's. Her name is Alyse. The first time I saw her I was just a child, and with her harsh gaze, muscles limbs and dark clothing, I'd thought she was a shifter.

Until the councillor came after her. There's a graceful way that shifter's move that sets them apart.

The earth begins to thud, seeming to vibrate under my feet. Tension builds with each thump of approaching hooves, each second that ticks by as we all hold our breaths as a dark carriage rounds the corner. I always found it strange that the council members always arrived in carriages. After what I saw last year, I find myself wondering, why don't they just run in their wolf form? Aside from the night of the Red Moon, we never see them in their other forms.

Cadence taps her foot anxiously as the carriage crawls to a stop. Curtains block the windows, but we all know who is in there.

Mr Tetterman. Veymaw's councillor.

The village holds their breaths as the door to the carriage creeps open and he ventures out. I haven't seen him in nearly two years. The last time he came, after the last Red Moon, I was still holed up in Casimir's cabin, folded in grief.

But age has not been kind to him. We hear about shifters growing up. Though they're rarely seen, we're told of their beauty, the way they age gracefully, the way that everything about them is designed to lure humans in—the prey to the predator. But Mr Tetterman does not look well. His salt and peppered hair has thinned, giving way to a bald spot on the top of his head, and wrinkles line his face.

His age doesn't take away from his gaze, more terrifying than Alyse's as it scans across the crowd. I spot Cas's blonde hair on the opposite side of the lot. His eyes are on me, and he nods reassuringly. It settles the pit of fear in my stomach.

"Sir." One of the harvesters who works with Casimir steps forward. "What brings you to Veymaw so early in the year?"

"It is by unfortunate circumstances I find myself here," he grumbles. By appearance, he looks old and frail, but his movements do not match it. He moves as if it does not pain him to do so. "There has been a report of unsatisfactory behaviour."

A murmur rolls across the crowd. My heart rate picks up, but I stay still, keeping my eyes trained on him. Across the lot, I feel Killian's stare. Did he report me? He said he wouldn't, but he's given me no reason to believe him.

"Unsatisfactory behaviour, sir?" the man questions.

"Indeed." He takes several seconds before speaking again.

A chill travels down my spine, but beneath the skin, something else lingers—hotter, more bitter. Hatred. As his eyes brush our way, I hold my breath, fear pounding me, as if he can somehow sense my disgust.

"I'm sure you are all aware of the impending Red Moon next week. Unfortunately, around this time of year we encounter more... issues."

My heart hammers. Each second feels longer than the last.

"Recent reports have caused us concern," he states. "King Ereon wishes for you to know that he cares deeply for each one of you. He takes the time to protect you from other, less civil countries like Torinne." He licks his lips. "You can imagine how disappointed he was with recent reports."

Nobody says anything. To do so would to be to risk your life. But with each word that comes from him mouth, my hatred burns hotter. And as I stare around at the faces, my stomach churns, because despite the fear, there's belief. Belief that he's telling the truth. That the shifters care for us. That they want the best for us.

"I am sure you are all aware of a small group who call themselves the deserters."

A murmur rolls through the crowd, but my stomach plummets. Cadence shoots me a sideways look when I tighten my grip on her hand.

"Do you think... they're here?" she whispers to me. "The deserters? In Veymaw?"

"I don't know."

Across the clearing, I eye Killian. He stands at the back of the crowd, half concealed by the shadows of the awning above. But even in the darkness and distance, his gaze burns hot.

He knows what I've been doing.

Suddenly, Mr Tetterman's words hold more weight. Sweat beads at the back of my neck, my head light as I try to stand still.

"Silence, please!" Mr Tetterman orders. The crowd quietens, staring around at one another as if trying to find the imposter. "The rebel group are weak and powerless, dwindling in numbers. They do not care about you. They will manipulate you and twist your minds. They will lie. I pity any soul that encounters them and falls for their traps." He tips his head sideways. "Alas, they still must face the consequences."

I hold my breath.

"Mr Anthony Firshin." Nobody moves for a few seconds. Mr Tetterman repeats the name. Anton, owner of the bakery, is shoved to the front of the crowd. He hunches over, greying hair thinning as he looks up at Mr Tetterman.

"Y-yes, sir?"

"You are charged with fraternising with the rebel group, conspiring against King Ereon, and contributing to illegal activities."

Anton looks stumped. "W-what?"

"For your crimes, you will face death."

"S-sir, that is simply not true, whoever has told you of such—"

He doesn't let him finish his sentence. Before any of us can blink, his hand is inside of Anton's chest, coming out coated in red with Anton's beating heart in the palm of his hand. The crowd gasps, some wail. Bile rises in my throat as I turn to look away, gripping Cadence close to me.

That's how they killed my father.

"Take this as a warning to you all," Tetterman continues as if he isn't holding a heart. "The rebel group will only end in your destruction."

He turns, wiping his hand on his sleeve and climbing back into his carriage. Nobody can speak as the horses trot away, Alyse bringing up the rear, leaving Anton's limp body bleeding all over the earth.

That's how they killed my father.

I feel sick. Everybody knew Anton. I've known him since I was a kid, opening the bakery each morning. He was old and frail and kind and had a smile that lit up the entire room. He couldn't have been with the deserters, not Anton, but there was no time to protest, no time to deny the allegations. He was dead before he could even process the report.

That's how they killed my father.

I spin around at the tap on my shoulder, facing Casimir staring down at me with wide, horrified eyes. He touches my hair, hands gentle. I don't care what lies wedge between us. As if he can sense the crumbling walls, he pulls me to him before I have a chance to say anything, burying me in his chest. I squeeze my eyes shut, but all I see is Anton lying bloodied on the ground, my father next to him, their hearts out for all to see.

"It's okay," Casimir murmurs, stroking down my hair. "They're gone now."

That could've been me.

Ice travels through my veins as I fist his shirt, trying to hold it together. If Killian had reported me, it would've been me. I don't know what evidence Mr Tetterman had against Anton, or if they had any at all. But I know enough about the shifter to know that they don't care. They kill and ask questions later.

I should stop looking for the deserters if I value my life. But I need to find them now more than ever. If not for myself, then for Samu. Because shifters don't take people alive. They leave for dead. They don't take hostages. Until Samu. That must mean something—that he could still be alive, that he's still out there.

And I must do something to find him.

"Let's go home," Cas says, pulling away.

We don't say anything as we walk home, side by side, lost in our thoughts. The last time the council came, it was to take my father's body, but Anton's body still lies bleeding in the marketplace for all to see.

Why?

___

Do you think Anton was a deserter?

What do you think of the councilman?

What do you think might happen next?