Nevermore, My Broken Heart

Chapter 4: Carnival of Woes

The forest path opened onto a wash of sound and color that made Enid's heart lift for the first time in days. The Pilgrim World Fair sprawled across the meadow beyond Jericho's edge like a constellation fallen to earth—strings of carnival lights painting the dusk in amber and gold, red and blue. The air carried the intoxicating mix of funnel cake grease and spun sugar, diesel fuel from the rides and the earthy musk of trampled grass.

"This is amazing," Enid breathed, rising slightly on her toes as calliope music drifted from somewhere deep in the maze of booths and attractions. For the first time since leaving the hospital, the tightness in her chest began to ease.

Maya brushed leaves from her dark hair, grinning as she surveyed their handiwork. "Told you that passage would cut the time in half. My grandmother used to smuggle contraband through those woods during Prohibition."

"Your grandmother was a bootlegger?" Sebastian asked, his eyebrows raised.

"Among other things." Maya's smile turned mysterious. "The Barker family has a long tradition of creative rule interpretation."

Bruno slipped his arm around Enid's waist, his warmth solid and reassuring against her side. "So, what's the plan? Rides first, or do we start with the questionable food that'll probably give us all food poisoning?"

The normalcy of it—standing here with friends, planning an evening of teenage rebellion—felt like stepping into sunlight after weeks underground. Enid linked her arm through Bruno's, letting his steady presence anchor her to the moment.

"Actually," Roland said, already scanning the crowd, "Sebastian and I spotted some interesting normie girls over by the Ferris wheel. Think we'll do some reconnaissance."

Maya rolled her eyes. "Subtlety, Roland. Look it up."

"Hey, I'm very subtle," Roland protested, then immediately ruined it by flexing slightly as a group of local girls walked past.

Sebastian shook his head. "This is why we can't take you anywhere." But he was already moving toward the rides, Roland falling into step beside him with the easy coordination of pack brothers.

"I'm going to see if they have those impossible basketball games," Maya said, her competitive spirit already engaged. "The kind where the hoops are rigged and the balls are too big, but I bet I can figure out the angle anyway."

The group dispersed with casual promises to meet back at the entrance in two hours, leaving Enid and Bruno standing at the edge of the midway. The space between them filled with possibility—couple time, real couple time, without pack dynamics or roommate drama or any of the complications that had been weighing her down.

Bruno turned to face her, his dark eyes warm under the festive lights. "So. Just you and me now. What do you want to do first?"

"Games!" The word burst out with more enthusiasm than she'd intended, but she didn't care. "Let's see if you're as good at winning plushies as you say."

They wandered deeper into the fair, past the spinning teacups and the haunted house facade, past food trucks selling everything from funnel cakes to turkey legs. Enid let herself get swept up in the sensory overload—the flashing lights, the distant screams of delight from the roller coaster, children running between their parents' legs clutching stuffed animals and clouds of pink cotton candy.

This is what normal feels like, she thought, and clung to the sensation.

Bruno stopped at a ring toss booth where stuffed animals hung from every available surface. The carny behind the counter wore a striped vest and the kind smile that suggested he'd separated many teenagers from their money.

"Step right up! Three rings for five dollars, five rings for eight! Win your lovely lady a prize!"

Bruno pulled out his wallet. "Five rings. I'm feeling confident."

He handed over the money and accepted the plastic rings from the carny. "How hard can it be?"

Enid watched him line up his first shot, tongue poking out slightly in concentration. The ring sailed in a perfect arc and landed cleanly around the neck of a glass bottle. The second ring wobbled and fell. The third missed entirely.

"Beginner's luck," the carny said with a practiced grin. "Two more shots, young man."

Bruno's fourth ring caught the edge of a bottle and bounced off. His fifth settled around another bottle's neck with a satisfying clink.

"Two out of five!" the carny announced. "That gets you your choice from the small prize section."

Bruno's gaze swept the options before settling on a small stuffed fox with bright blue eyes and a mischievous expression. "That one," he said, pointing.

When he handed it to Enid, her smile was entirely genuine. The fox was soft and perfect, its russet fur the exact shade of autumn leaves. "He's adorable. Thank you."

"He reminded me of you," Bruno said softly. "Something about the eyes."

Her cheeks warmed, though whether from the compliment or embarrassment, she couldn't tell. She hugged the fox against her chest as they moved toward the food vendors, letting herself lean into Bruno's side as they walked.

They shared cotton candy at the next booth, the spun sugar dissolving on their tongues in sticky sweetness. When the vendor handed her the paper cone, Enid tore off a piece and popped it into her mouth, only to discover her fingers had become hopelessly sticky with pink sugar residue.

"Here," Bruno said, laughing as she tried unsuccessfully to wipe her hands on the tiny napkin. He produced a packet of wet wipes from his jacket pocket with the kind of foresight that made her heart squeeze affectionately. "I came prepared."

The simple intimacy of it—being taken care of without having to ask—felt like a luxury she'd forgotten existed.

They wandered past more booths, past the ring of fire and the strongman game, until they reached a section where stuffed animals hung like trophies from the booth awnings. Ravens. Black-feathered, button-eyed ravens dangling from strings, their wings spread in permanent flight.

The fox in her arms suddenly felt too heavy. For a moment she wasn't standing in the bright chaos of the carnival but back in that sterile hospital room, watching Wednesday turn away from her.

We're not friends. We're roommates. Nothing more.

A young girl with dark braids walked past clutching her father's hand, her black dress a stark contrast to the carnival's riot of color. She looked like a miniature Wednesday, down to the serious expression and pale complexion.

"Enid?" Bruno's voice seemed to come from very far away. "You okay?"

She physically shook her head, forcing the memories back into whatever dark corner of her mind they'd crawled out of. This was her night. Her chance to be normal, to be happy, to forget about murderers and betrayal and all the ways her world had imploded.

"I'm fine," she said, grabbing his hand with perhaps more force than necessary. "Let's go on the Tilt-A-Whirl. I want to get dizzy and forget about everything except having fun with you."

Bruno's expression flickered with concern, but he didn't push. Instead, he let her pull him toward the spinning ride, her fingers warm and slightly desperate in his grasp.

The ride had left Enid breathless and giddy, her cheeks flushed from the spinning motion and hollow laughter. She clung to Bruno's arm as they stumbled away from the ride, her legs still unsteady beneath her.

"That was amazing," she said, the words coming out too loud, too bright. She could hear the manic edge in her own voice but couldn't seem to dial it back. "I feel like the whole world is still spinning."

Bruno steadied her with a gentle hand on her elbow, his smile warm but observant. "Easy there. Maybe we should sit down for a minute?"

"No, no, I'm fine." She fidgeted with nervous energy, the plush toy still in her grasp. "What should we do next? The haunted house? Those swinging chairs that go really high?"

"Actually," he said, his voice taking on a softer tone, "how about something a little more relaxed? The Ferris wheel's supposed to have great views of the whole fair from the top."

Enid's stomach lurched, though she couldn't say if it was residual motion sickness or something else entirely. The thought of being trapped in a small gondola high above the ground, with nothing but her thoughts and Bruno's kindness for company, made her chest tighten.

"The Ferris wheel," she repeated, masking her hesitation. "That sounds very romantic."

They joined the line behind a group of teenagers from Jericho High, their voices carrying the confidence of kids who'd never had to worry about transforming under a full moon or keeping deadly secrets from their parents. Enid found herself watching them with something like envy, wishing she could remember what it felt like to be that carefree.

"You sure you're okay?" Bruno asked quietly. "You seem a little... wound up."

She turned to face him, pressing closer than necessary, letting her body curve against his. "I'm just happy," she said, her hand finding his chest. "For the first time in so long, I'm actually having fun. Is that so wrong?"

His arms came around her waist. "Not wrong at all. I just want to make sure you're really here with me, you know? Not just... running from something else."

The observation hit too close to home, making her flinch internally. But she covered it with another bright laugh, standing on her tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his jawline.

"I'm with you," she said, and tried to make it true.

The line moved forward, and soon they were settling into the gondola, the safety bar clicking into place across their laps. As the wheel began its slow ascent, Enid felt her brittle cheerfulness start to crack at the edges. Up here, away from the noise and chaos of the midway, there was nowhere to hide from the thoughts she'd been running from all evening.

"Look at that," Bruno said softly, his arm tightening around her shoulders as they reached the halfway point. "You can see the whole fair spread out like a map. And over there—" He pointed toward the distant lights of Jericho. "The town looks so peaceful from up here."

Enid followed his gaze, trying to lose herself in the view. The fair did look magical from this height, a glittering tapestry of color and motion against the dark Vermont countryside. The Ferris wheel's gentle rotation gave them a new perspective every few seconds—now the midway with its rivers of people, now the parking area where cars gleamed under the security lights, now the dark line of forest that separated them from Nevermore.

"Thank you," she said quietly, and this time the words felt genuine. "For bringing me here. For being so patient with me."

Bruno turned to study her profile, his free hand coming up to trace the line of her cheek. "I'm glad you came tonight. You seem happier than you have all week. More like yourself."

More like yourself. The words should have been comforting, but which self was he talking about? The bubbly girl who painted her nails in rainbow colors and decorated her side of the room with fairy lights? The werewolf who'd finally found her pack? Or was there another self entirely, one she'd been too afraid to acknowledge?

When Bruno leaned in to kiss her, she met him halfway with eagerness. His lips were warm and soft, tasting faintly of the cotton candy they'd shared earlier. She kissed him back with everything she had, willing herself to feel the sparks that every romance novel promised, the butterflies and racing heartbeat and weak-in-the-knees sensation that meant you were falling in love.

But there was nothing. Pleasant warmth, yes. Affection, certainly. But no fire, no desperate need, no sense that she might die if she couldn't kiss him again immediately. It felt like kissing a really good friend—which, she realized with growing panic, was exactly what it had always felt like.

Even with Ajax, sweet and shy Ajax with his nervous smile and hidden snakes, there had been fondness but no real passion. She'd told herself it would come with time, that real love wasn't like the movies. But now, with Bruno's arms around her and the fairground illuminated below, she couldn't escape the terrifying possibility that maybe she was broken somehow. Maybe she was incapable of feeling what other people felt.

The gondola swayed gently as they reached the top of the wheel, suspended between earth and sky. Bruno pulled back slightly, his eyes soft with something that looked dangerously close to love.

"I'm really glad you're finally relaxing," he murmured, his thumb brushing across her cheekbone. "You've seemed so tense lately, so worried about everything. It's nice to see you happy."

Happy. Was this what happiness looked like from the outside? This frantic energy, this desperate attempt to feel something, anything, other than the hollow ache that had taken up residence in her chest?

Without warning, her mind flashed back to the hospital—to Wednesday's pale face on those stark white pillows, to the monitors beeping their mechanical rhythm, to the way Wednesday had looked at her like she was nothing more than an inconvenience.

We're not friends. We're roommates. Nothing more.

"Enid?" Bruno's voice seemed to come from very far away. "You're shaking."

This was supposed to be her night of forgetting, her chance to be normal and happy and everything Wednesday clearly thought she wasn't capable of being.

"Sorry," she said, her voice a little too bright again. "Just the height. I'm not great with heights."

As the wheel began its descent, she turned in Bruno's arms and kissed him again, more forcefully this time, as if she could somehow will the passion into existence through sheer determination. His surprise melted into pleased response, his hands gentle on her back as she pressed closer.

"Wow," he said when they broke apart, his breathing slightly uneven. "What was that for?"

"Just because," she said, her grin feeling like plastic on her face. "Because I'm having such an amazing time with you. Because you're wonderful and I'm lucky to have you."

As their gondola touched down and the operator helped them out, Enid clutched Bruno's hand and smiled until her cheeks hurt, determined to prove to herself—and to Wednesday's voice in her head—that she could be happy. That she could move on.

Even if it was killing her.

Tyler pulled the hood lower over his face, melting deeper into the river of families and teenagers flowing through the midway. The Pilgrim World Fair pulsed with noise and light, a perfect hunting ground where a predator could move unseen among the prey. He'd been tracking them for over an hour now, staying far enough back to avoid detection while keeping Enid Sinclair in his sight.

There she was—laughing too loudly at something Bruno said, clutching a small stuffed fox like a child's security blanket. His jaw clenched as he watched the werewolf's protective arm circle her waist. Such touching devotion. Such misplaced loyalty to someone who belonged to Wednesday Addams.

Wednesday's little pet, he thought, his green eyes never leaving Enid's bright figure. Her weakness. Her soft spot.

The psychiatric ward had taught him patience. Months of enforced stillness, of calculating and planning, had honed his predatory instincts to a razor's edge. The other wolves were scattered throughout the fair—he'd counted at least four of them, maybe more. Even as a Hyde, taking on a full pack would be risky. But Enid isolated? Vulnerable? That was a different question entirely.

From booth to booth he shadowed them, maintaining his distance as they played ring toss and shared cotton candy. Bruno won Enid a small prize, and Tyler's lips curled into something that might have been a smile if it hadn't been so cold. Such tender moments. Such beautiful innocence. It would make destroying her all the sweeter.

His thoughts turned to Wednesday, probably back at Nevermore right now, completely unaware of what was coming. She thought herself so clever, so untouchable. She'd stood in that sterile room at Willow Hill and torn him apart with words, reducing him to nothing more than an "expendable nobody" with "subpar barista skills." The push through the window? It was a warning. He wouldn't let his revenge end so quickly.

Let's see how clever you feel when you find pieces of your precious roommate scattered across the carnival grounds.

The fantasy sent a thrill through him, but he forced himself to remain calm. Emotion was the enemy of logic, and logic was what had kept him alive and free while everyone else who'd crossed Wednesday Addams ended up dead or broken.

Watching them head to the Tilt-A-Whirl, he observed Enid stumble away from the ride with forced laughter and glittering eyes. Even from this distance, he could see the cracks in her charade. Something was eating at her, some private anguish that made her performance all the more desperate. Good. Broken things were easier to shatter completely.

They moved toward the Ferris wheel, and Tyler felt his pulse quicken. Height. Isolation. Limited escape routes. But the ride operator was too visible, too many witnesses. He needed something quieter, more private.

As if reading his thoughts, Enid suddenly pressed close to Bruno and spoke in his ear. The words were inaudible, but he read the body language—the way she touched his chest, the theatrical brightness of her smile. She was performing even for her boyfriend, hiding something beneath all that manic energy.

Secrets, Tyler mused, following at a distance as they joined the Ferris wheel line. Everyone has them. Even bright little wolves.

The wheel carried them up into the night sky, two small figures silhouetted against the colored lights. Near the funnel cake stand, he found a position where he could watch without being obvious, just another young man in a hoodie waiting for friends.

When their gondola finally descended and they stumbled out, hand in hand, Tyler noticed the subtle shift in their dynamic. Bruno was being gentle, solicitous, the way you handled something fragile. And Enid—Enid was trying too hard to seem normal, to seem happy.

Interesting.

"I'm starving," he heard her say as they passed within twenty feet of his position. "All that spinning made me work up an appetite. Can you grab us something? I'll find us a place to sit."

Bruno nodded, already scanning the food trucks. "What sounds good? Nachos? Turkey legs?"

"Surprise me," Enid said, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Something greasy and terrible for us. I'll be right over there."

She pointed to a cluster of picnic tables near the edge of the midway, far enough from the main flow of traffic to offer privacy. Bruno headed toward the longest line—the barbecue truck that was clearly the most popular option.

A feeling like joy bloomed in Tyler's chest as Enid settled onto a bench facing away from the crowd, the stuffed fox in her lap. She was alone. Isolated. And Bruno was trapped in a line that would take at least ten minutes to clear.

The other pack members were nowhere to be seen—probably off winning prizes or making out behind the haunted house like teenagers everywhere. Enid sat by herself in a little pool of relative quiet, her shoulders slumped with exhaustion now that she thought no one was watching.

Through the crowd he began moving, weaving between families with strollers and groups of laughing teenagers. His heart hammered against his ribs, but not with fear—with anticipation. With the intoxicating rush of the hunt reaching its climax.

Fifty feet. Forty-five. She still hadn't turned around, still hadn't sensed the danger approaching from behind. Her vulnerability was almost insulting in its completeness.

Wednesday's finally going to break when she finds what's left of you.

Forty feet. Thirty-five. The scent reached him now over the greasy carnival air—vanilla shampoo and something floral, some innocent perfume that made his predatory instincts surge.

Thirty feet.

The assault on Wednesday's senses began the moment they crested the hill overlooking the fairgrounds. Pilgrim World Fair infected the valley below with neon pustules, its garish lights pulsing against the October darkness in patterns designed to trigger seizures in anyone with functioning taste. The cacophony of screaming children, carnival barkers, and mind-numbing music blended into a symphony of everything Wednesday despised about human celebration.

At the edge of the parking area, her dark eyes scanned the chaos. The smell alone—a nauseating cocktail of fried dough, spilled beer, and unwashed humanity—threatened to overwhelm her typically iron constitution.

"It's like someone vomited rainbows onto a construction site," she murmured, watching a family pass by wearing matching light-up necklaces that made them visible from space.

Agnes materialized beside her, no longer bothering with invisibility. "The crowds will give us cover, but they'll also make finding anyone nearly impossible."

Wednesday forced herself to move forward, each step drawing her deeper into the nightmare. Children shrieked with delight on rides that spun them in nauseating circles. Teenagers clustered around games rigged to separate fools from their money. Adults gorged themselves on food that violated several laws of nature and probably a few of physics.

Focus, she told herself. Enid is here somewhere. So is Tyler.

The urgency beneath her controlled exterior felt unfamiliar, unwelcome. Wednesday Addams did not feel panic. She did not experience the racing heartbeat that currently threatened to puncture her fractured ribs. Yet here she was, scanning faces with something approaching desperation.

"We need to split up," she told Agnes, her voice cutting through the carnival noise. "Cover more ground."

Agnes nodded, her usual eager enthusiasm tempered by the seriousness of their mission. "I'll take the rides and games on the left. Ring toss, Tilt-A-Whirl, that section."

"I'll handle the right side and food areas." Her gaze swept the layout, calculating sight lines and potential ambush points. "Thirty minutes. If neither of us locates them, we regroup at the entrance."

They separated into the crowd, leaving Wednesday to navigate between strollers and cotton candy vendors. Her typical measured pace gave way to something more urgent, though she maintained enough control to avoid drawing attention.

The Ferris wheel dominated the center of the fairground, its lights creating patterns that hurt to observe directly. Couples and families descended from gondolas with the particular glassy-eyed satisfaction of people who'd paid money to be lifted into the air for no practical purpose.

A flash of familiar blonde hair caught her eye in the harsh carnival lights. Wednesday's pulse quickened as she spotted Enid stepping off the Ferris wheel, Bruno's protective arm around her waist. Relief flooded through her chest, followed immediately by tactical assessment.

From her position behind a funnel cake stand, she observed their interaction. Even at this distance, the forced quality in Enid's laughter was evident, as was the way she leaned too heavily into Bruno's support. Something was wrong, though whether it was physical discomfort or emotional distress remained unclear.

As they moved toward the food trucks, Wednesday shadowed them at a distance, using the masses as concealment. Bruno displayed all the supportive behaviors one would typically seek in a partner. Enid responded with the bright performative energy that Wednesday recognized as her roommate's default defense mechanism.

"I'm starving," Enid's voice carried over the carnival noise. "All that spinning made me work up an appetite. Can you grab us something? I'll find us a place to sit."

Wednesday's internal alarms activated. Separation. Isolation. Vulnerability.

Bruno headed toward the barbecue truck's lengthy line while Enid selected a picnic table at the edge of the midway. The positioning was great for privacy but catastrophic for security—back exposed to the crowd, limited escape routes, no line of sight to potential threats.

Wednesday edged closer, using a ring toss booth as cover. Enid sat alone with a stuffed fox in her lap, her shoulders dropping the moment she thought herself unobserved. The exhaustion that emerged was profound, suggesting whatever had driven her to seek normalcy at a carnival was taking its toll.

Then Wednesday saw him.

Tyler cut through the masses—purposeful, calculating, inevitable. The hood obscured his features, but his posture was unmistakable. She watched him advance toward Enid from the rear, noting how he measured distance and timing.

Wednesday had perhaps thirty seconds before Tyler reached striking distance. Bruno remained trapped in a line that snaked around the barbecue truck. The other pack members were scattered throughout the fair, oblivious to the danger.

Two choices presented themselves: warn Enid directly, which would involve her roommate in the confrontation Wednesday had tried desperately to prevent, or intercept Tyler herself, potentially triggering the exact scenario that led to Enid's prophesied death.

Before she could properly weight both options, her body sliced through the neon chaos like a blade. Tyler had closed to within twenty-five feet of Enid's table—near enough that Wednesday could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands flexed with barely contained violence.

She positioned herself directly in his path.

"Tyler." Her voice carried across the carnival noise, each syllable designed to cut deep. "How disappointingly predictable."

He froze, his head snapping toward her like a predator caught mid-hunt. Even beneath the hood, the shock rippled across his features—eyes widening, jaw dropping slightly before rage flooded in to replace surprise.

"Wednesday." His voice emerged as a growl, his entire body radiating fury at this unexpected intrusion.

"Am I disrupting your pathetic little hunting expedition?" she asked, slowly stepping backward. "I must say, stalking girls at county fairs really lowers your brand from 'discount serial killer' to 'complete amateur.'"

Tyler followed, his attention now completely fixated on her. Good. Each step carried them further from Enid, deeper into the maze of carnival booths and away from innocent bystanders.

"You think you're so clever," he snarled, his transformation already beginning—subtle shifts in posture, the way his fingers curved like claws. "I had you. At Willow Hill, I had you broken and bleeding—"

"You had one job, Tyler." Her tone carried the casual cruelty of someone discussing the weather. "Kill one teenage girl. And you failed spectacularly."

A conniving grin spread across his face. "Don't worry, I'm going to finish what I started. But first, I'm going to make you watch while I tear your precious friend apart, piece by—"

"How utterly devoted you are to a dead woman's commands." Wednesday's backward steps took them past the ring toss, toward the darker edges of the fairground. "Like a loyal dog, still following orders from beyond the grave. Does her voice echo in your empty skull? Do you dream of earning her approval?"

His breathing grew ragged as his body continued the grotesque shift that preceded transformation. "I don't need her anymore—"

"Don't you?" Her voice dropped to a whisper that somehow carried more venom than any scream. "You're here, hunting the exact target she would have chosen. You're using the exact methods she taught you. You're still her puppet, Tyler. The only difference is now you're dancing for a dead master."

Tyler's spine began to elongate, vertebrae popping audibly as his frame stretched upward. "I'm nobody's—"

"You're right. You're nobody's anything." Wednesday's assault intensified, each word chosen to inflict maximum psychological damage. "Not even worthy enough to be remembered as a cautionary tale. Just another forgettable psychopath with delusions of significance."

His skin began to mottle, patches of gray spreading across his neck and hands like an infection. His jaw elongated, teeth sharpening into predatory points. But his eyes—his eyes remained locked on Wednesday with burning hatred.

"I'll kill you!" Tyler's voice was changing, becoming something between human speech and animal snarl. "I'll—"

"You'll do exactly what I want you to do." Wednesday's smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "Because that's all you've ever been capable of. A reactive animal, responding to stimuli like a laboratory rat. I say jump, you ask how high. I appear at a carnival, you abandon your plans to chase me instead."

The transformation accelerated, his limbs stretching into impossible proportions. Claws erupted from his fingertips, black and curved like scythes. His facial features distorted into angles that belonged to no earthly creature.

"Even now, you're proving my point," she continued, backing steadily away as he grew more monstrous. "I walked into your trap and turned it into mine. You thought you were the hunter, but you're just another predictable beast following the scent I laid for you."

His grotesque extension completed, leaving him hunched but towering at nearly seven feet. His skin had transformed into gray-blue hide, veined with darker patterns. When he opened his mouth, rows of sharp teeth gleamed in the carnival lights.

"You want to know the truth about your precious notoriety?" Wednesday remained steady even as she faced the fully transformed Hyde. "In six months, no one will remember the barista who played monster. You'll be a footnote in someone else's story. Anonymous mediocrity with claws."

A roar built in Tyler's throat—a sound that belonged to nightmares, to the spaces between sleeping and waking where the worst fears lived. It erupted from his transformed vocal cords with the force of an avalanche, drowning out every carnival sound.

The noise was inhuman, primal, carrying notes of rage and hunger and something that might have once been pain. It rolled over the festival like thunder, turning heads and stopping conversations as people tried to identify the source of such an impossible sound.

Wednesday stood perfectly still as the roar washed over her, her dark eyes never leaving Tyler's transformed face. She had done what she came to do—drawn him away from Enid, triggered his transformation, and made herself the primary target.

Now the real chase could begin.

"I'm starving," Enid said, clutching the stuffed fox against her chest like a talisman. "All that spinning made me work up an appetite. Can you grab us something? I'll find us a place to sit."

Bruno nodded, already scanning the food trucks with the focused intensity of someone on a mission. "What sounds good? Nachos? Turkey legs?"

"Surprise me," she managed, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Something greasy and terrible for us. I'll be right over there."

She pointed toward a cluster of picnic tables near the edge of the midway, far enough from the main crush of people to offer a little peace and quiet. Bruno headed toward the barbecue truck while Enid made her way to an empty table, settling onto the weathered bench with her back to the crowd.

The moment Bruno disappeared into the queue, her carefully maintained mask crumbled like tissue paper. The weight she'd been carrying all evening pulled her shoulders down, while the manufactured smile she'd maintained disappeared. Leaning forward, Enid pressed her face against the plush toy's soft fur, grateful for a moment of honesty amid her exhausting performance.

What am I even doing here?

This question had stalked her all evening, finally cornering her in this island of relative calm. The carnival continued its noisy revelry around her—children's excited cries, parental warnings, carefree teenage laughter—yet it all seemed to exist in another dimension, separated from her by an invisible barrier.

She was so tired. Tired of pretending to be happy, tired of forcing herself to feel sparks that weren't there, tired of performing when everything inside her felt fragmented and wrong. The fox's button eyes stared up at her, and she wondered if that's how she looked to everyone else—artificial, sewn together, stuffed with nothing real.

Bruno deserves better than this, she thought, guilt settling heavy in her chest. He deserves someone who doesn't have to fake being in love with him.

The thought was followed immediately by a more devastating one: Maybe I'm just incapable of loving anyone the way they deserve.

A roar shattered the night.

It started low, building from somewhere deep in the fairgrounds, then erupted with the force of a freight train. The sound was wrong—not human, not quite animal, something caught between nightmare and reality. It rolled across the carnival, drowning out the calliope music and turning every head in its direction.

Enid's body responded before her mind could catch up. She shot to her feet, the fox tumbling to the picnic table as every muscle in her body coiled with tension. Her wolf senses blazed to life—pupils dilating, hearing sharpening, skin prickling with awareness. Her heartbeat hammered against her ribs as her body prepared for fight or flight.

That roar belonged to a predator. Something dangerous, something hunting, something that triggered every survival instinct evolution had given her species.

"Enid!" Bruno's voice cut through her heightened awareness as he appeared at her side, breathing hard. "We should go. Now."

She could smell his adrenaline beneath his usual scent. His eyes kept darting toward the deeper sections of the fair where screams were starting to replace laughter.

Maya materialized first, her dark hair wild as if she'd been running. "That wasn't a sound effect, something's wrong here."

Sebastian and Roland appeared moments later, flanking them with the automatic coordination of a pack under threat. Roland's nostrils flared as he tested the air. "We're leaving. All of us. Right now."

Bruno's grip on her hand tightened as he began pulling her toward the parking area. "Come on, Enid. Whatever that was, we don't want to meet it."

The pack moved as a unit, Bruno and Roland creating a protective formation around her and Maya while Sebastian took point. They flowed through the crowd like water, avoiding the families starting to look around nervously, skirting the edge of growing confusion as people tried to identify the source of that terrifying sound.

But Enid kept looking back over her shoulder, scanning faces in the crowd. Her wolf senses caught fragments—displaced air where someone had moved quickly.

Then she saw her.

Agnes DeMille materialized from the space between two game booths like smoke becoming solid. For just a moment, the younger girl was perfectly visible—red pigtails, pale skin, that distinctive intensity that marked her as Wednesday's shadow. Then she was moving again, slipping through the crowd with purpose.

Enid's world tilted sideways as the pieces crashed together.

Agnes was here. And Agnes never went anywhere without Wednesday—either following her or desperately trying to get her attention. Which meant Wednesday was somewhere in this chaos, in danger from whatever had made that inhuman sound.

Tyler.

"Oh God," she whispered, the blood draining from her face.

Wednesday was here, facing Tyler alone while Enid played carnival games and pretended to be happy.

"Enid?" Bruno's voice seemed to come from very far away. "What's wrong?"

She yanked her hand free from his grip, her body already turning back toward the fairgrounds. "I have to go back."

"What? No!" Bruno's voice cracked with panic as he reached for her again. "Whatever's happening back there, it's not our problem. We need to get you to safety."

"Wednesday's in there," Enid said, and the words carried absolute certainty. "She's in there, and she's in danger, and I can't—I won't—"

"Enid, stop!" Maya called as Enid broke away from the group. "You don't know that!"

But she was already running, her sneakers pounding against the packed earth as she sprinted back into the maze of booths and rides. Behind her, she could hear Bruno shouting her name, could hear the pack's coordinated pursuit as they tried to catch her.

She ran faster.

Wednesday sprinted through the carnival chaos, her injured ribs sending spikes of pain through her chest with each pounding step. Behind her, Tyler's grotesque form crashed through booths and barriers like a natural disaster.

Screams erupted around them as fairgoers finally processed what they were seeing. Parents snatched children from the ground, teenagers scattered like startled birds, vendors abandoned their posts in blind panic. The orderly flow of carnival-goers became a stampede as people pushed and shoved to escape the nightmare pursuing one small girl in black.

Vaulting over a ring toss counter, Wednesday's boots caught the edge as she rolled across scattered prizes. Tyler demolished the booth's framework behind her, shredding the striped awning like cardboard. His breathing had become a wet, rattling sound that seemed to echo from multiple directions at once.

She darted left between a cotton candy stand and funnel cake trailer, using their bulk to momentarily break Tyler's line of sight. The narrow passage forced him to slow, his enlarged frame scraping against both structures as he squeezed through. Metal groaned and canvas tore, but it bought her precious seconds.

The Tilt-A-Whirl sat abandoned, its colorful cars still spinning lazily without passengers. Wednesday dove underneath the platform, crawling through the underpinnings while footsteps thundered overhead. Oil and grease stained her uniform, but she emerged on the far side with Tyler momentarily confused by her scent trail.

Think, she thought to herself as she scanned the fairground. Advantage. Terrain. Anything.

The funhouse loomed ahead—a garish structure painted with leering faces and architectural impossibilities. "House of Horrors" proclaimed the neon sign, letters flickering erratically. It was a maze, deliberately disorienting, designed to confuse and disorient visitors.

Perfect.

Wednesday raced toward the entrance as another roar split the night, this one closer. She could hear claws scraping against pavement as Tyler rounded the Tilt-A-Whirl. The funhouse entrance gaped before her like a hungry mouth. She plunged inside without hesitation.

Darkness swallowed her immediately. The walls seemed to shift and breathe, covered in black fabric that absorbed what little light filtered in from outside. Mechanical laughter echoed from hidden speakers, punctuated by creaking sounds and distant screams that might have been recordings or might have been real.

Moving forward carefully, Wednesday trailed one hand along the wall to maintain her bearings. The floor tilted at odd angles, forcing her to adjust her balance with each step. Fake spider webs brushed against her face, their synthetic strands clinging to her braids.

Then the mirrors began.

The Hall of Mirrors stretched before her—dozens of reflective surfaces angled at improbable geometries, creating infinite versions of herself stretching into eternity. Some mirrors elongated her figure into a skeletal wraith. Others compressed her into a squat goblin. All of them multiplied her image until she couldn't tell which reflection was real and which was illusion.

Behind her, the entrance exploded inward as Tyler forced his way through. His transformed bulk scraped against the doorframe, leaving gouges in the painted wood. In the mirrors, his reflection multiplied into an army of monsters, each one slightly different, all of them advancing.

Wednesday crept deeper into the maze, using the mirror panels as cover. Tyler's breathing echoed strangely in the confined space, bouncing off reflective surfaces until it seemed to come from everywhere at once. She pressed herself against a tilted mirror, watching his distorted reflections search for her true position.

The artificial scares continued around them—plastic skeletons dropping from hidden compartments, recorded screams echoing from speakers, air jets designed to startle visitors. But these manufactured terrors paled beside the genuine nightmare stalking through the attraction.

With surprising care now, Tyler used his enhanced senses to probe for her scent trail among the competing odors of fake fog and carnival machinery. Wednesday held her breath, counting heartbeats as his footsteps approached her hiding spot.

One reflection showed him passing directly in front of her position. Another revealed him moving away toward a different section of the maze. A third suggested he'd vanished entirely. The mirrors lied as effectively as any human, turning reality into speculation.

Wednesday waited until the reflections suggested he'd moved deeper into the maze before creeping toward what she hoped was an exit. Her ribs protested each movement, but she forced herself to remain silent. The floor beneath her feet felt unstable, as if it might collapse at any moment.

She'd almost reached a promising corridor when the wall beside her exploded.

Tyler burst through the mirror panel like it was made of soap bubbles, his claws seizing her shoulder and digging deep enough to draw blood through her uniform.

"Found you," he snarled, his voice barely recognizable through his elongated jaw.

Wednesday twisted in his grip, bringing her knee up toward his midsection, but Tyler anticipated the counterattack. His free hand caught her leg and used her own momentum against her, lifting her bodily and hurling her through the maze.

She crashed through three more mirror panels, each impact sending fresh agony through her injured ribs. Glass cut at her face and hands as she tumbled through fake walls. A plastic skeleton shattered beneath her weight, its bones scattering across the tilted floor.

Smashing through the barriers she'd just destroyed, Tyler grabbed the back of her jacket. The fabric tore as he swung her around. Wednesday felt herself become airborne, the funhouse spinning around her in a kaleidoscope of broken mirrors and twisted metal.

The impact with the far wall broke through the wooden structure, sending her through in an explosion of splinters. She tumbled across packed earth as pieces of the funhouse collapsed behind her. Shouts erupted from the gathered crowd as they saw her emerge from the wreckage, bloodied but alive.

Her ribs screamed as she tried to push herself up from the debris-strewn ground. Each breath felt like broken glass grinding against her lungs. The sounds of the fleeing crowd faded into background noise as Tyler emerged fully from the destroyed funhouse, his transformed frame casting elongated shadows across the carnival grounds.

"Just like Willow Hill," Tyler said, his voice rasping through his distorted throat. "You, broken and bleeding on the ground. Me, standing over you."

Wednesday forced herself to one knee, her vision swimming. Tyler had positioned himself between her and any possible retreat, his hulking form blocking her view of the scattered carnival booths. In the distance, emergency sirens wailed—too far away, too late to matter.

"You were always going to end up here," he continued, savoring each word. "Helpless. Pathetic. All that arrogance finally stripped away to show what you really are—just another scared little girl."

Move, Wednesday commanded herself. Stand. Fight. Anything.

But her body betrayed her. Three steps away now, Tyler loomed close enough that she could smell the metallic reek of his transformed flesh, could see the anticipation gleaming in his yellowed eyes.

Two steps.

He raised his arm, the carnival lights catching the razor edges of his claws. "I'm going to take my time with—"

A blur of gray and blonde exploded from behind an overturned game booth.

Enid in full wolf form slammed into Tyler with devastating impact, driving him sideways into the twisted remains of a ring toss stand. Metal buckled and canvas tore as they crashed through the debris. Tyler's roar of surprise transformed into one of rage as Enid's teeth locked onto his shoulder with crushing force.

Wednesday's heart stopped.

The vision blazed through her mind—Enid's tombstone, her voice echoing: "I die because of you!"—as she watched her roommate battle the monster she had led here. This was exactly what she'd tried to prevent.

Tyler twisted, slamming Enid against the funhouse's broken wall. Splinters exploded around them, but Enid maintained her grip, her claws raking deep furrows across Tyler's gray hide. Black blood welled from the wounds, releasing steam in the cool night air.

Get up, Wednesday told herself, fighting through the pain. Move. Help her.

But her body felt disconnected, ribs grinding with each attempt at movement. She could only observe as the two supernatural forces tore at each other.

Tyler finally broke free, spinning to face Enid directly. His elongated jaw split in what might have been a grin, revealing rows of needle-like teeth. "The little pet wolf. How touching."

Circling him, Enid raised her hackles with lips pulled back in a snarl. In her wolf form, she stood nearly as tall as Tyler's extended waist, her blonde-gray coat rippling over lean muscle. But Tyler had at least a hundred pounds on her, and his Hyde physiology turned him into something beyond natural predators.

They clashed again, a whirlwind of claws and teeth that moved too fast for human eyes to follow. Enid darted in to land strikes before spinning away from Tyler's counterattacks. Her training with the pack showed—she fought with pack tactics, using hit-and-run techniques that maximized her speed advantage.

But Tyler fought like the monster he was.

A sweep of his elongated arm caught Enid mid-leap, his claws tearing across her ribs. Though she absorbed some impact by rolling, Tyler was already in motion. Grabbing a twisted piece of carnival machinery—a support beam from the destroyed ring toss—he swung it like a club.

The metal caught Enid across the shoulder, launching her through the air. She landed awkwardly, her left foreleg buckling under her weight. Tyler advanced, his breathing coming in wet, excited gasps.

"Broken little wolf," he taunted, raising the improvised weapon again. "Just like your precious roommate."

Tyler brought the beam down.

Enid dodged, but her injured leg slowed her. The metal glanced off her hip, knocking her across the glass-strewn ground. She tried to rise again, but her strength was failing. Blood darkened her coat in patches.

Discarding the beam, Tyler seized Enid by the scruff, lifting her partially off the ground. His claws penetrated deep, drawing fresh blood as Enid's paws struggled for purchase.

"I wonder," Tyler mused, his distorted voice carrying sick pleasure, "how many pieces I'll need to tear before Wednesday understands her lesson."

Something cold and absolute formed in Wednesday's chest. The fear she'd felt watching the fight—not for herself, but for Enid—transformed into pure fury.

Ignoring the agony lancing through her ribs, Wednesday pushed herself to her feet. Her legs shook with the effort, but she remained upright through sheer force of will. Tyler had his back to her, completely focused on his captive prey.

Taking one step forward, then another, Wednesday positioned herself between Tyler and any escape route. Glass crunched under her boots as she moved.

"Tyler."

He turned, still holding Enid suspended by her scruff. His yellow eyes widened slightly at seeing Wednesday standing—bloodied, battered, but unbroken.

"Put her down."

Tyler's laugh bubbled wetly through his throat. "How noble. The cold little psychopath finally shows she cares about something." His grip on Enid tightened, eliciting a pained whimper from the wolf. "I think I'll keep her. Make you watch while I—"

"Put. Her. Down." Wednesday interrupted, stepping closer despite the threat of his claws.

For a moment, Tyler seemed genuinely surprised by her audacity. Here she stood—injured, outmatched, with no weapons except her words—making demands against a creature that could tear her apart in seconds.

Enid's blue eyes fixed on Wednesday's face, communicating without words: Run. Save yourself. Don't die for me.

But Wednesday held her ground, meeting Tyler's monstrous gaze without flinching. She'd made her choice. Whatever came next, she would face it standing between Enid and harm.

With disregard, Tyler dropped Enid, her wolf form collapsing with a sickening thump. She tried to push herself upright, but her injured leg buckled. Tyler refocused his attention on Wednesday.

"Now," he said, his elongated jaw splitting into something resembling a grin, "where were we?"

Wednesday stood firm despite every rational instinct screaming at her to run. Taking deliberate steps forward, Tyler savored the moment. His claws flexed in anticipation. At least this time, she wouldn't be falling out of a third-story window.

The attack came from his blind side.

Bruno's wolf form surged from the shadows beyond the collapsed funhouse, a blur of dark fur and focused rage. He drove his shoulder into the Hyde's midsection with enough force to stagger the larger creature. Tyler spun, swiping reflexively, but Bruno had already rolled away.

Shaking off the impact, Tyler scanned for this new threat. "Another pet?" he snarled, straightening to his full height. "How many of these—"

Maya burst from behind an overturned popcorn cart, her gray-brown coat gleaming under the carnival lights. She went low, targeting Tyler's legs. Her teeth found purchase just above his ankle, locking down with devastating pressure.

As Tyler reached down to dislodge her, Sebastian appeared from the opposite flank. Where Maya relied on swiftness, Sebastian brought raw power—two hundred pounds of muscle driving Tyler sideways into the wreckage of a game booth.

The pack moved with natural coordination. These weren't individual wolves fighting; this was a tactical unit. They flowed around Tyler's counterattacks, always keeping him off balance. When one wolf engaged, the others repositioned. No single animal stayed within reach long enough for Tyler to focus his superior strength.

Bruno darted in again, this time targeting Tyler's extended arm. His teeth scraped against gray hide, drawing black blood that released steam in the cool air. Tyler twisted, trying to catch him with his claws, but Maya was already moving to his other side, her teeth finding the back of his thigh.

Frustration built in Tyler with each coordinated assault. Though he could overpower any individual wolf, their pack tactics neutralized his advantages. When he focused on Maya, Sebastian struck. When he turned toward Sebastian, Bruno was already attacking.

"Fucking animals!" Tyler bellowed, his voice cracking with rage. He grabbed another twisted piece of carnival framework—a section of the Tilt-A-Whirl's support structure—and swung it.

The metal struck Sebastian across the ribs, lifting him off his feet and sending him crashing into a cotton candy cart. Pink spun sugar exploded around him as he landed. For a moment, he lay still.

Roland chose that instant to join the battle.

The pack alpha emerged from the darkness beyond the rides, his massive frame dwarfing even Tyler's extended form. Where the other wolves employed tactics, Roland brought elemental force. He didn't dart or weave—he simply charged, hitting Tyler head-on with the confidence of a creature that had never lost a fight.

Tyler went down, Roland's jaws clamping around his throat just below the jaw line. The Hyde thrashed wildly, his claws carving deep furrows across Roland's shoulders, but the alpha maintained his grip with unwavering determination.

The other wolves pressed their advantage. Maya went for Tyler's legs again while Bruno targeted his left arm. Even Sebastian, recovering from his impact with the cart, rejoined the attack. They overwhelmed Tyler like a living avalanche, teeth and claws finding every vulnerable point.

Tyler's roars shifted from rage to something approaching panic. He bucked and twisted, trying to throw off his attackers, but pack coordination held him pinned. Blood—his and theirs—slicked the ground beneath the tangle of supernatural combatants.

Then sirens cut through the night.

Sheriff Santiago's voice boomed across the fairgrounds through a megaphone: "This is Jericho PD! Everyone on the ground, now!"

Spotlights blazed to life, turning the carnival into a stage lit by harsh white glare. The beams swept across the wreckage, catching glimpses of the ongoing battle—wolves, blood, and something that defied easy categorization.

Tyler's head snapped toward the approaching lights, his frantic mind calculating odds and escape routes. Wednesday recognized the moment his strategy shifted from fighting to fleeing. With a surge of desperate strength, he threw Roland from his throat, sending the alpha sprawling across broken glass.

Maya maintained her grip on his leg, but Tyler pivoted and backhanded her with enough force to lift her completely off the ground. She struck a funhouse support beam with a crack.

Sebastian lunged for Tyler's midsection, but the Hyde was already moving. He grabbed the young wolf by the scruff and hurled him into Bruno, sending both animals sprawling in a tangle of limbs and yelping.

Now free from the pack assault, Tyler surveyed his options. Law enforcement advancing from the front, injured but recovering wolves on all sides, and behind him—the dark forest beyond the fairgrounds.

He chose the trees.

Tyler bounded toward the tree line with inhuman speed, his elongated limbs carrying him across the broken ground in massive strides. Roland struggled to his feet, blood flowing from claw marks across his shoulders, but he was too injured to pursue. The other wolves regrouped around Enid, forming a protective circle rather than giving chase.

Wednesday rushed to Enid the moment Tyler vanished into the tree line. Her roommate lay crumpled among the glass and debris, no longer the powerful wolf who had thrown herself between Wednesday and death. Human again, Enid's torn clothing barely covered the fresh wounds across her ribs and shoulder. Blood darkened her blonde hair where Tyler's claws had found their mark.

"Enid." Wednesday dropped to her knees beside the fallen girl, her own injuries forgotten. Enid's chest rose and fell in steady rhythm—painful, but not the shallow gasps of someone dying.

Enid's eyes fluttered open, focusing with effort on Wednesday's face.

Agnes appeared beside Wednesday, her invisibility dropping like a discarded cloak. "Jesus," she breathed, staring at the aftermath. "Are you—is everyone—"

"Agnes." Wednesday's voice cut through the rambling. "Get Enid back to Nevermore. Now."

Agnes blinked, her gaze darting between Wednesday and the blood-soaked ground around them. "What about you?"

Wednesday's attention shifted toward the dark forest where Tyler had disappeared. Through the trees, she could hear Sheriff Santiago's team coordinating their search, voices calling positions and reporting negative contact. Tyler was still out there, wounded and furious.

"Wednesday, no." Enid struggled to prop herself up on her elbows, wincing as the movement pulled at her injuries. "Don't you dare follow him."

Meeting Enid's desperate gaze, Wednesday saw her own death reflected there—not the tombstone from her vision, but something immediate and brutal waiting among the trees. Common sense demanded she stay, help treat Enid's wounds, wait for professional law enforcement to handle the escaped monster.

Instead, she found herself rising to her feet.

"Wednesday!" Enid's voice cracked with exhaustion and fear.

But Wednesday was already moving, her legs carrying her toward the tree line before rational thought could intervene. Each step sent fresh agony through her broken body, but she pressed forward through sheer determination.

The forest swallowed her immediately. Branches caught at her torn clothing, roots threatened to trip her with every stride. Behind her, Agnes's voice called her name, but the sound grew distant as Wednesday pushed deeper into the darkness.

She tracked the path of destruction Tyler had carved through the forest—snapped branches, claw marks gouged into bark, disturbed earth where his inhuman weight had passed. The trail led steadily upward, away from the carnival lights and toward the deeper wilderness surrounding Jericho.

Sheriff Santiago's radio chatter guided her direction. The search teams were spreading out in a grid pattern, their flashlight beams cutting through the darkness like lighthouse sweeps. Wednesday adjusted her path to parallel their search corridors, using their coordination to track Tyler's probable escape routes.

The destruction trail grew fainter as Tyler had apparently slowed his headlong flight, but Wednesday's eyes adjusted to the moonlight filtering through the canopy. A torn strip of gray hide on a thornbush. Deep prints in a patch of soft earth where he'd landed heavily after a leap.

She emerged into a large clearing where the destruction trail simply stopped. Turning slowly, Wednesday scanned the perimeter. The ground showed no clear direction of departure—Tyler had either learned to move without leaving sign, or he'd deliberately obscured his tracks.

Rustling erupted from the brush behind her.

Wednesday spun, muscles coiling for another fight, but the approaching footsteps moved with human rhythm rather than monstrous loping. A flashlight blazed to life, the beam catching her full in the face and turning her night vision to useless white spots.

"Well, well." Sheriff Santiago emerged from the undergrowth, her uniform torn and dirt-stained from pursuit. The flashlight lowered slightly, allowing Wednesday to make out the sheriff's grim expression.

Santiago's radio crackled. "Unit Three to Command. We've lost the trail near the old logging road. No sign of the suspect."

"Copy that," Santiago replied into her shoulder-mounted walkie. "Fan out and keep looking." She clipped the radio back to her belt, her attention focusing entirely on Wednesday.

"Ms. Addams," Santiago called out, her voice carrying across the organized chaos. "Care to explain what the hell just happened here?"

The fairgrounds reeked of spilled kettle corn and terror. Judi picked her way through the debris field that had once been Pilgrim World's autumn carnival, her pristine sweater now stained with dust and someone else's blood. Emergency lights strobed red and blue across overturned game booths and scattered prizes, turning the devastation into a surreal nightmare landscape.

Years of work. Years.

Her mind churned with fury as she followed the swath of chaos Tyler had carved through the carnival. Wednesday Addams—that insufferable, relentless little spider—had systematically unraveled everything Judi had built. First the investigation into the crow murders, then the infiltration of Willow Hill, the discovery of LOIS, and finally that catastrophic power failure that had freed every single test subject and turned her life's work into screaming chaos.

Dr. Fairburn was dead. Her father was dead. The carefully maintained facade of Willow Hill's legitimacy lay in smoking ruins, and every news van in three counties was circling every lead for clues. Clues that would lead directly to her. Decades of research, lost. Subjects she'd spent years conditioning, scattered to the winds.

All because of one black-braided teenager with delusions of grandeur.

She knows too much. They all know too much.

The thought circled through her consciousness like one of her crows. Wednesday and Fester Addams—they'd both seen the LOIS lab, witnessed the experiments, connected her to every corpse that had fallen under her crows' talons. There would be no returning to normal operations, no salvaging the program. Only one option remained: complete elimination of every witness.

Tyler's trail had gone cold near the forest edge, where claw marks scored the bark of oak trees and sheriff's deputies shouted coordinates into their radios. Turning back toward the carnival's interior, Judi searched for any advantage she could salvage from this disaster.

The sound stopped her cold.

Wet. Rhythmic. Coming from the darker edges of the fairgrounds, away from the emergency responders and fleeing crowds. A soft tearing noise, followed by the sharp crack of something breaking. Then silence, until it began again.

Crack. Tear. Crack.

That wasn't the sound of cleanup crews or injured civilians. That was something else entirely.

Moving toward the noise, she stepped carefully around scattered game prizes and abandoned ice cream cones. The strobing emergency lights didn't reach this far into the wreckage, leaving only shadows and the pale glow of distant streetlamps to guide her path.

The debris grew stranger as she walked. Dark stains spread across the ground in patterns too deliberate to be spilled soda or dropped funnel cake. The metallic scent grew stronger, mixing copper and salt with something organic and wrong. Her shoes squelched slightly with each step.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The mechanical sound wove through the wet noises like a metronome keeping time for a grotesque symphony. Judi's pulse quickened, though she couldn't identify why. Something about that steady rhythm felt familiar, like a half-remembered lullaby from childhood.

She rounded the corner of a collapsed balloon pop booth, stepping between two overturned food trucks that formed a makeshift alley. The smell hit her full force—blood and brain matter and the sharp ozone scent of electrical discharge.

The figure hunched over his meal looked up at her approach.

Judi's world tilted sideways.

He knelt beside what had once been a fairgoer, the victim's skull cracked open like a delicate egg. Blood darkened his mouth and chin, but his movements were steady as he lifted portions of gray matter to his lips. The steady ticking came from his chest, where brass gears caught the dim light through tears in his clothing.

The build was familiar. The careful, methodical way he held his shoulders. The delicacy of his movements, as though he were performing a complex equation rather than consuming human brain tissue.

No. It can't be.

But the skin had regained its human color, no longer the sickly gray-blue of decomposition. The eyes that met hers blazed with brilliant, terrible intelligence. And that clockwork heart—she'd heard its ticking countless times throughout her younger years.

"Ezekiel?" The name escaped her lips before conscious thought could stop it.

The figure went perfectly still, hands frozen in their grisly work. Slowly, deliberately, he turned to face her fully. Brain matter flecked his chin, but his expression was almost fond, like a favorite uncle greeting a beloved niece.

When he spoke, his voice carried the warmth she remembered from her past, tinged with something that might have been genuine affection.

"Hello, little bird."

The mechanical ticking of his heart filled the silence between them, each brass gear marking time like death itself. In the distance, sirens wailed and deputies shouted coordinates, but here in this makeshift charnel house, Judi Spannegel stared into the eyes of Ezekiel Grimwald and felt something between horror and homecoming settle in her chest.