"Killian’s not in camp.” Kennedy rushes through the screen door, letting it slam.

Annie’s having a panic attack on the sofa. She’s wrung her skirt to the point it’s wrinkled and damp with palm sweat. She’s not going to be able to make the mushroom run. She was cool yesterday, but having Draken howling outside all night long jangled her nerves. And they’re not steady on the best of days.

“Where is he?” I ease my backpack over my shoulders. I’ve carefully wrapped the jar of morels in a thick quilt.

“Old Noreen didn’t know, and I didn’t want to ask anybody else. I don’t smell him anywhere, though.” She...