Panic pulses in my veins. Finn is gone. Gone. And yet the boat keeps moving, bumping across the waves, further and further away from my last glimpse of those wide, brown eyes. The wind continues to gust and the water continues to storm and nothing is different except the empty space of air beside me.

The boat slams down over a foamy wave, but Becca doesn't falter. Her grip on the steering wheel remains iron-clad as she presses her foot down even harder on the gas. I lunge forward and grab her by the bicep, slipping and sliding across the slick deck. The wind roars in my ears as I shout, "What the fuck are you doing, Becca?"

She tries to shrug me off, but I won't let go. "Goddammit, Ronan, I'm trying to save us."

The boat lurches, and I tumble away, my skull slamming into the pedestal of the steering wheel. Owen yelps as I knock into his legs, and then I'm tumbling, out of control, across the deck. When I finally manage to steady myself, I lift my dizzy head and catch sight of the docks, far off in the distance. The fog has finally lifted, but I wish it would come back. I don't want to see how lost Finn is. The growing distance between us and him feels like a punch to the gut.

"Becca, please. We have to go back for him."

She shakes her head at me. Her shoulders are trembling, but her grasp of the steering wheel is nothing but pure steel.

"You're killing him, Becca! You're killing him!"

She won't meet my eyes.

I fling myself at the counselor. "Turn the boat around!" I scream at him, because even though he's certifiably insane, he's still a counselor and has to carry some edge of authority. "Don't you want to shoot the Kraken? This is your chance!"

He blinks at me wildly. There's a long, bloody gash on his forehead— I bet he got it when the canoe collapsed, although I really don't care. "It's too late," he murmurs. "The Kraken will kill us if we go back, and I lost my gun, so we have no way of defending ourselves. Your friend is gone."

"You useless piece of shit! Finn is drowning to death as we speak!"

Owen's hangdog eyes droop with remorse. I hate him so, so much. I wish he had drowned in the lake. "It's too late to save him. He's the Kraken's now."

I curse furiously at him, and he cringes away. But the boat keeps moving.

"Ronan, please," I hear Becca say. "The Kraken won't kill Finn. It favors him."

"The Kraken won't kill Finn, because you killed him," I yell, and her face turns white. "You fucking killed him! Don't you understand? You killed him!"

She doesn't reply. Instead, she guns the engine and sends us flying towards the docks.

I try to reach for the steering wheel, but then something clasps my arm— Owen. He pulls me away from Becca and pins my arms behind my back. "Let it go, Ronan. Your friend is gone. There's nothing we can do for him now."

"Fuck you!" I kick him in the leg, but his grip holds strong. "Fuck— you—" My voice breaks away into a sob. The heartbeat in my chest runs wild. Lake water pounds against my eye. And somewhere, far away, Finn is drowning...

My knees give out when we hit the docks, and I crumble to the floor, taking Owen down with me. Becca hops out of the boat with a sailor's nimble ease, quickly lashing us to one of the rusted cleats. The waves have died down. It's stiller here in the shallows, almost quiet. The camp hasn't stirred since we left. No search parties have been sent out, no counselors are shouting into their talkies. I don't think anybody even noticed we were gone.

Fury bubbles in my throat, so acidic and vile that I almost throw up. I scramble away from Owen, bumping up against the broken guardrail, and stick a hand down my waistband, grappling for the sheath of the knife I tucked away for this very moment. "You psychotic asshole," I hiss, rounding on him with the hilt of the knife clutched in my palm. "I will personally make sure you pay for what you've done."

Owen pulls himself to his feet. He doesn't look too troubled by my statement, or by the knife in my hand. "Sometimes we have to make sacrifices. Lives are often meant to be lost. What happened to your friend is a tragedy, but don't worry— I'll find another way to end the Kraken. In the end, there is always justice."

"How is this justice? Finn is dead because of you!"

And then Owen does something absolutely unforgivable: he shrugs. "I'm sorry, Ronan. There's nothing I can do."

The weight of the knife feels tempting in my hand, and suddenly it transforms into a physical manifestation of all my pain and fury and grief, a weapon forged in the fire of the heart thumping fiercely against my rib-cage. I don't say anything, I don't even think— I just hurl myself at Owen with the intention of thrusting the knife through his gut.

"No!" Out of nowhere, Becca tackles me like a professional football player, throwing us both against the side of the boat. The shattered remains of the guardrail give way with an excruciating wail, and Becca and I tumble backward into the shallows of the lake.

It takes me a moment for me to untangle our limbs, and when I finally force my head above water, I'm stunned by the sight of Owen fleeing. He clears the space between the boat and the docks with a single leap, then takes off, sprinting into the shroud of mist draped over the beach.

Becca surfaces next to me, gasping and wiping her hair out of her eyes. "Ronan, don't! If you use that knife to hurt Owen, you'll be just as bad as him!"

"I don't care if it makes me the worst person alive. That bastard is getting away."

I slog my way through the swirling mud and vegetation, finding my way back to solid ground. As soon as my soggy sneakers make contact with the beach, I start running after the counselor, chasing his retreating form into the mist.

Becca's desperate cries echo behind me, but I don't let them slow me down. The only two things that matter now are the counselor and the knife in my hand.

"Stop running, you coward!" I scream aimlessly into the mist. "You wanted justice? Well, here I am!"

The shadowy silhouette of a man materializes out of the gloom in front of me, and I skitter to a halt. "You shouldn't have followed me, Ronan Lockwood."

Owen's baby-blue eyes glitter at me through the fog. I raise my knife.

But Wolesley gets there first.

The groundskeeper hits Owen over the head with a plank of driftwood, sending him to his knees. "You are a counselor!" Wolesley cries, swinging the plank over his head in preparation for another blow. "Your job was to protect the campers, not hurt them!"

Owen tries to rise to his feet, but he doesn't make it very far before Wolesley knocks him down with a well-placed kick to the kidneys. "How can you think the Kraken is evil when it tried to save your brother, and you tried to kill these children? How could you, Owen?" Wolesley's bulky rain-jacket whips around his scarecrow body like a tempest. He doesn't look so sorrowful anymore. Now, the sight of him is unnervingly frightening. "You betrayed us, Owen. You betrayed us all."

"You don't understand. The Kraken killed Emory, it killed him—"

"Liar! I did my research, Owen. I know how your brother died. Suicide, right? Or was it murder?"

Owen's mouth falls open, and he makes a gargled noise halfway between a groan and a sob. "I did... I didn't. You don't understand. Emory was suffering, I had to help him. I had to put him out of his misery."

"It wasn't his misery, Owen. It was yours."

"My... no. I would never hurt my brother. I loved Emory!"

"If you loved him, why did you kill him?"

Owen lets out an ear-splitting wail. "Emory— the Kraken— I just wanted it to stop. I wanted all the suffering to be over. There was so much pain— I was in so much pain—"

Footsteps crunch behind us, and I whirl around, readying the knife— only to see Becca appear out of the mist, panting and out of breath. "What the hell is going on?"

I point the knife at her, but she doesn't look threatened by it all. Just sad, and hurt. "You crazy. All of you are fucking crazy. Finn is still out there in the lake, but I'll be damned if I let him drown!"

"Ronan, if Finn is still out there, it may be too late to save him—" Wolsey begins.

"No. It's not too late. It can't be." The knife no longer feels powerful in my hand. Now, the sight of the steely metal is repulsive. I throw it to the ground, relief surging into me as I watch it disappear between the pebbles, and then I start running. My body feels weightless, and my legs feel like they could go for miles.

"Ronan! Ronan!" Becca shouts. "Where are you going?"

"To find the Director!"