The massive moon lit the empty road almost as brightly as if it were day. Penelope didn't need the extra help. With everyone in Ridgestone for the festival, it was really just her out here. Driving along, with no other cars in sight, felt a little like she had driven into the aftermath of the apocalypse and she was the only person left alive... She tried to put the thought out of her head. She didn't want to think about being dead or alive...

The truck heaved around as she turned it onto the rough road that led through the subdivision, bumping along the potholes she was in too much of a hurry to dodge. She only slowed down as the houses started to seem familiar. She passed the driveway where Beth's SUV was still parked, now dusted with a few fallen leaves. The keys Gunnar had given her burned a hole in her pocket, but she drove on, down to the next house. Henry's beat up 90s JEEP was right where he said he'd left it, parked in the driveway of the house across from the old Christensen place. It was dark and still—empty. That meant he had to be still here.

Is that a good sign, or a bad sign?

She turned her head, looking down the opposite driveway to the Christensen place. It was empty. No sign of Gunnar, or his truck.

A sudden worry washed over her. She wondered if she had jumped to the wrong conclusion—maybe Gunnar really was just attending to other business. And if she had been wrong, if Gunnar hadn't been on his way here, then she had broken their agreement by running away. 

And now he would be on his way here after he'd been told about it.

Which meant she had to hurry.

She didn't pull into any driveway, instead she turned the truck around and parked on the road. She left the keys in the ignition and the doors unlocked. She wanted to be ready to run.

Penelope scanned her surroundings as she crept through the woods on her way back to the Christensen house. With the bright moon, she could see everything clearly—every tree, every branch, every blade of grass—cast in sharp relief and edged with cold light. The old sunken Christensen house looked especially eerie, just a dark silhouette against the bright sky. As she neared the back, she sidestepped a patch of vibrant foxglove and ducked behind a tree. She pressed in close to its shadow and peered around the edge to assess the situation.

The bunkhouse was right there in the distance, just a shadow in between the trees. It was dark and quiet, too. Everything was still. There was no sound of movement, no birds, or bugs, not even breeze. The whole forest was silent, like everything had fled, sensing a predator was near...

Good sign or bad sign?

Her fingers dug into the bark of the tree as she tried to decide what to do next. Did she continue to creep around and further scope out the situation, or head right down to the cellar? As she pressed against the tree, she noticed that its texture was... strange. It rippled, curving in and dipping out. Penelope tipped her head back, looking up through the canopy.

The moon was almost directly above, its cold light reaching towards her from between the gaps in the leaves. The tree she clung to had barely any leaves of its own—except a few clustered towards the very top. Its lower branches, spidery and bare, had been choked off from being twisted together long ago.

A braided tree.

She slowly dropped her eyes, reviewing her surroundings with fresh eyes. Here, in the Christensen's forest, every tree was braided. Some of them were springy and young while others, most , were thick and old, woven together long ago. Something stirred in Penelope's stomach. Seeing them here, clustered around the bunkhouse, gave her the feeling that these trees were some kind of sign—a symptom—of The Raven's presence.

Her eyes lowered further, to the foxglove at her feet. They seemed like part of the puzzle, too. She struggled to remember what Liam had said about them. The flowers, while pretty, weren't local.

It wasn't supposed to be here. It was an invasive species...

The beating of wings made her whip her head around.

A black shape landed in the branches of a braided birch only a few feet away.

A raven.

Good sign or bad sign?

It hopped about on its branch, twisting its little head around. It was as if it were looking for something.

Watching the bird casting its gaze around made something Gunnar had said popped back into her mind. "Keep your fucking eyes off me," he had spat as he threw the little raven he had killed to the ground. At the time Penelope hadn't really been in a position to give much thought to the exact meaning of his words, but now an idea sparked to life in her head.

Is that bird a direct line of communication to the creature in the basement?

There was no way to be sure btu she knew she was right. And it wasn't just this bird. All the ravens were. The Raven watched through their eyes, spoke through their mouths, and scoured the skies, looking for...

She pressed herself closer to the shadow of the tree. She thought of her other theory, that Gunnar had some kind of control over the creature. If that, too, was true... 

Then could Gunnar be watching through its eyes?

Was it—he—looking for her?

As soon as she thought about it, the bird above turned its little head and its little beady eyes settled on her face. It had found her.

Penelope's breath hitched as her heartbeat began to rise. Through it all, she tried to sort out her thoughts. Though all her theories felt right, the puzzle pieces in her head still weren't fitting together right.

The bird stared at her and gave a croak before fluttering down to a lower, closer branch to get a better look.

If the birds were under Gunnar's control...

Then why had they begged me to follow them all those times?

Why would they try and lead me here?

The bird squawked at her again, hopping closer.

If Gunnar controlled the Raven...

Then why had they helped me?

Why did they lead me to safety?

That wasn't Gunnar's doing.

Another memory began to stir inside her head. A memory of another bird in another braided tree, after it had asked her to follow...

The bird before gave another, louder cry.

"HELP. ME."

Penelope's eyes went wide and everything snapped into place.

That's why it had been trying to lead her to it. That's why it had helped her. And that's why it had found Henry, all those years ago...

It needed the right kind of person...

It needed someone who would listen—someone who would help.

The little bird gave another great croaking, sounding almost impatient.

Penelope pushed off the tree, stepping out of the shadows. "Okay, I'll help you," she said, her soft voice almost loud in the oppressive quiet of the forest. "If you help me."