It takes Solma a moment to realize the figure standing in Olive’s torch beam is Ig. He blinks, raising his hand to shield his eyes.
“Did you find anything?” Solma demands. Ig shakes his head, lowering his hand. He fixes Solma with a glare and there’s something strange about his eyes.
“No,” he says. “And even if I had, I ain’t telling you.”
Solma blinks, nonplussed.
“Look, kid,” she says. “We ain’t got time for this. Warren’s missing and we need you back at camp—”
“I ain’t going back to camp,” Ig says. “I ain’t going anywhere with you and your stupid group. I’m done, you hear?”
Something cold creeps through Solma’s gut, some knowledge, nagging and urgent, tugging on her mind. There’s something she knows, something obvious, that would unlock this mystery.
“What are you talking about?
