The tap of Harrison’s shoes sounded loud on the deserted pavement, but he ignored the rhythm, choosing instead to focus his attention on the shadows cast by the silver moon. Hunkering deeper into his coat, he passed cramped dirt yards boxed in by chain-link fences, the houses beyond them dark and eerily quiet. Twice he felt as if he was being followed, but when he glanced back, there was no one.

At 1565 Monroe, he let himself through the gate and circled around to the back of the house. He knocked once and saw a shadow move behind the lace curtains.

The door cracked.

“It’s me,” Harrison said, keeping his voice low.

The door opened just wide enough to admit him.

“Were you followed?” he was asked.

“No.”

“She’s in trouble.”

Harrison’s heart quickened. “What kind of trouble?”

“Once she turns sixteen, he’ll come for her. You need to take her far away. Someplace where he’ll never find her.”

Harrison shook his head. “I don’t understand—”

He was cut off by a menacing glare. “When we made this agreement, I told you there would be things you couldn’t understand. Sixteen is a cursed age in—in my world. That’s all you need to know,” he finished brusquely.

The two men watched each other, until at last Harrison gave a wary nod.

“You have to cover your tracks,” he was told. “Wherever you go, you have to start over. No one can know you came from Maine. No one. He’ll never stop looking for her. Do you understand?”

“I understand.” But would his wife? Would Nora?

Harrison’s vision was adapting to the darkness, and he noted with curious disbelief that the man standing before him appeared not to have aged a day since their last meeting. In fact, he hadn’t aged a day since college, when they’d met as roommates and become fast friends.