I dream of the wild lands.

I dream about the towering green forests that used to span continents, the restless, untamed deserts with their shifting dunes, and the ocean; so clear and bright and blue that it looked like a reflection of the sky. I dream about air as crisp and fresh as glacial ice, about billowing, gusting winds, about rain so pure you can drink it, straight from the clouds. I dream of a planet without humans, and its fierce beauty.

I dream of the kraken, and what it means. To me. To the world. And to the future.

And then I wake up.

I'm in the Med Cabin, lying on a cot covered in scratchy white sheets. As far as I can tell, the only other person in the room besides me is Ronan Lockwood, who's slouched half-asleep next to my bed in a chair that looks like it was stolen from the Mess Hall. His chin is propped up by his hand and he's staring dully out the window, his black eyes blank reflections of the night sky outside. Hours must have passed if it's finally dark outside. He appears lost in thought; caught up in something a thousand miles away.

"Hey, asshole," I say hoarsely.

Ronan jerks around to face me so quickly that he nearly tumbles off his chair. A thousand different emotions swarm across his face before he shunts them to the side, until only in his voice can I hear the feelings he's suppressing: "Oh, God. You're alive!"

I blink my eyes at him, just to make sure that this isn't some crazy hallucination. Ronan, sitting by my sick bed in the Med Cabin? This is almost more shocking than finding a kraken in the lake. I was expecting Ronan to be back at the cabin, relishing in the fact that he finally has the entire room to himself— not here, worrying about me. It's concerning.

"I didn't take you for a nurse," I tell him.

Ronan gives me an incredulous look. Then, he starts cracking up.

And, a bit incredulous myself, I find myself laughing, too.

"Finn, you are such a piece of shit. I sit here for five hours, not sure when you're going to wake up, or if you're going to wake up at all, and the first thing you do when you wake up is make a fucking wisecrack. Jesus Christ. I should have known better...."

Ronan shakes his head slowly. Now that the hysterical laughter has faded away, he's shrinking back into the pale, scared boy he was before. The brief burst of humor fades away into seriousness as we both contemplate the full weight of the situation.

"What time is it?" I ask, after a long pause.

"Almost three in the morning."

"It must have been bad if you sat here for five hours."

"Oh, it was bad. I've never seen Sybil so upset before—" The mention of the Director's first name makes me wince involuntarily, and before I know it, Ronan is launching into one of his tirades. "Shit, Finn, are you kidding me? You just took down a gun-wielding counselor and a kraken, and you're still afraid of the Director's real name? Dear God, get your shit together."

"She's scary," I say defensively.

"So is watching one of your friends almost die in front of you!" I realize that Ronan's voice is trembling slightly. His hands are, too, until he folds them together so tightly I can see his knuckles crackle with white. "The blood was the worst part. There was so much of it. We thought you'd been shot."

"Owen didn't shoot me."

"I know that now, you fucking moron. When you staggered out of the water and collapsed on the beach, we had to make some assumptions. We didn't figure out that it was the kraken's blood until the later. You barely had a scratch on you—"

"My head!" I exclaim, making him flinch. "I hit my head when the kraken capsized our boat. It hurt like hell. I was sure I had a concussion."

"No, I don't think so. The nurse gave you a pretty thorough inspection and didn't mention anything about a concussion."

"That's so strange. I definitely felt concussed..."

"Fear can play tricks on your mind."

"True. I'm glad you managed to escape without getting beat up, though. The water got really rough after Owen shot the kraken. What about Becca? Is she okay?"

Oddly, Ronan doesn't acknowledge my mention of Becca. Instead, he glances furtively towards the doorway, then lowers his voice to a whisper. "While we're on the topic of injuries, you have a weird scar on your arm. Sybil didn't notice, and it didn't seem life-threatening, so I figured I'd give her a break. She was freaking out enough already...."

I claw my way out of the itchy bed-sheets. Underneath the white blankets, I'm wearing nothing but my boxers, which would be embarrassing if I hadn't shared a room with Ronan for most of the summer. On my wrist is a faded red mottled scar. It looks years old, and similar to the healed wound on Ronan's ankle. Two scars, both from the kraken. And two different stories to tell.

"The kraken gave it to me," I say. "That's how it saves people. If it touches you, it gives you the ability to breathe underwater."

Ronan's black eyes widen with shock, but he doesn't question my explanation. "So, that's what grabbed my ankle when I fell out of the canoe?"

"And why it grabbed Emory."

"Who?"

"It's a long story. I'll catch you up later. Uh, what time is it exactly? I should probably call my mom, but I'm not sure if she's awake yet. She usually wakes up at six-thirty on the week days. And where's B—"

"Don't you have a watch?" asks Ronan, cutting me off.

I hold up my wrist to show him the cracked clock-face. "No. Our friend in the lake took care of that."

"Well, shit. There's a clock in the nurse's office. I'll go check." Ronan heaves himself from his chair and disappears into the dark. When he comes back, his face is even paler than before. "It's three-thirteen."

"Thirteen," I repeat automatically. The word is plucked from my mouth before I can even consider its meaning— or wonder what compelled me to say it. For a moment, I forget entirely about Becca and Ronan's weird reaction to her name, and the only thing I can think about is what Wolsey told us that day on the beach. "The number of miners that died in the explosion."

Ronan gives me a funny look, but judging by the glint in his black eyes, he knows exactly what I'm talking about. "It's just a coincidence."

"You know that there are no such things as coincidences at this camp."

"You think it's fate?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. I think a lot of things came together tonight. More than logic and reason can explain."

"Explain this, then." Ronan's eyes darken, and he looks back at the window— as if half-expecting to see a face pressed up against it. "Owen is gone."

"What do you mean, gone?"

"I mean that he got away." Ronan unfolds his hands and clasps them over his knees instead, one for each leg. His gaze remains locked on the window. I think about what he said earlier— how he waited by my side for five hours. He wasn't just worried that I might not wake up— no, that's far too mushy for Ronan Lockwood. He stayed because he thought I was still in danger.

I'm not sure how this makes me feel. On one hand, I understand that I'm better friends with Ronan than I thought, but on the other, if Ronan seriously thinks I'm in a danger, I am so, so screwed. Because if Owen is truly out there, and he still wants his revenge....

A shudder runs down my spine. Now I'm half-expecting for a face to pop up against the window, too. "How the hell did he get away?"

"Nobody knows. The other counselors locked him up in the Mess Hall— he was unconscious, too, Wolsey knocked him out with a plank of wood— but somehow, he broke a window and managed to escape. The Director sent Hecate out to find him, but it was no use. It started raining and the trail got washed away."

This information is sobering and a little bit terrifying. But for some reason, the only question I can think to ask is: "Wolsey actually hit him with a plank of wood?"

"Fuck yeah." The briefest hint of a smile flickers across Ronan's face. "You should have seen the look on Owen's face when he realized what was happening. It was wicked."

"Good. At least he got a taste of his own medicine before he escaped."

"Wolsey should hit people with sticks more often," Ronan jokes. He mimes swinging a baseball bat, and I smile because it reminds me of the time he whacked Clancey on the head with a flashlight. Good times. "Anyway, Owen's escape isn't all bad news. Sybil decided it was too unsafe for us to stay at Lightlake while a homicidal maniac is romping through the woods, so she's closing down the camp a week early. We all get to go home tomorrow."

"Holy shit."

"I know. I imagine you're going to be pretty popular with the other campers."

"Yeah, I bet. They still don't know about the kraken?"

"Nope. The Director is keeping it top-secret, so the only people who know are you, me, Becca, and a handful of counselors. Everyone else is too psyched about leaving early to question it."

"I can't believe it. I can't believe we get to go home."

"Same," Ronan says, not very enthusiastically.

"Are you still worried about New York—?"

"There are more important things to discuss than my home life, Finn. Like how Sybil is covering up the whole incident by saying that Owen tried to shoot you because he had a psychotic break. That way, if Owen does try to blab about the kraken, nobody will believe him because they'll think he's insane."

"He is insane," I point out. "You know the name I mentioned earlier? Emory? He's Owen's brother. Or, er, he was his brother. He was also the camper that got his arm mauled in the lake. Emory Hatch. Apparently, after Emory lost his arm his life sort of fell apart, and he died a few years later. Owen wanted revenge for what the kraken had done to his brother. He saw me summon the kraken on the beach and figured he could get me to do his dirty work."

"That explains a few things," Ronan says flatly.

"You aren't surprised?"

"After everything that's happened at this camp, there's not much that can surprise me. Also, it wouldn't make sense for Owen to try and kill the kraken without a reason. He's clearly intelligent and had this all planned out, so he must have a motive. Knowing that it was his dead brother only completes the puzzle."

"Some puzzle," I mutter. And then, before I lose my confidence, I ask, "Do you think he's going to... come back for me?"

Ronan jerks away, his poker face rattled. While it's all fun and games to joke about Owen escaping and letting us leave early, there's nothing remotely humorous how he's both clever and dangerous, and tried to kill us both only a few hours away. And could try again.

"No, I don't think so," Ronan says slowly. "Right now, Owen's probably more concerned with getting out of Alaska than trying to finish his business with you.Also, the Director's asked the Fairbanks police to come do routine sweeps of the camp, so if he does try to come back, they'll catch him. And... I don't think he's interested in killing you. He still needs you, after all. You're his only shot at killing the kraken."

I nod at him. "Well, if the police are here, I don't think he'll try anything. Owen's too big of a coward for that."

"Exactly," Ronan replies. And in his eyes I see that he understands— not that Owen is a coward, but that the presence of police at Lightlake is reassuring to me. I grew up with a cop for a dad. I've been around police officers my whole life. Knowing that they're here, knowing that I'm surrounded by something I'm familiar with, makes me feel way safer.

We discuss Owen's flight for a while longer, until Ronan tells me he needs to go talk to the Director. "I promised I'd get her as soon as you woke up, and I can only break my promises for so long. Is there anything else you need before I go? I have a feeling that things are only going to get more hectic when Sybil shows up."

"Actually, there is."

His lips tighten into a thin line.

"But you already knew that."

Ronan's eyes dart towards the window. Towards escape. But I'm not letting him off that easy— not tonight. So I grab him by the shoulder and force his gaze around. "Don't avoid this. You knew I was going to ask at some point."

"I was hoping that you wouldn't."

I stare at him pressingly until he finally relents and makes eye contact. Then I ask the question that's been itching at my brain since the moment I woke up: "When is Becca going to get here?"

"She's not."

"Something's wrong. I knew it. You got all weird when I asked you about her!"

Ronan shrugs my hand off his shoulders and rises out of the chair. "I'm going to get the Director."

"Did something happen to her? You haven't mentioned her at all. Did she get hurt?" I crane my neck to get a better look of the Med Wing, as if I'm suddenly going to see Becca's body lying motionless on one of the beds. "Did she make it out of the lake?"

"Yes. She's fine. No injuries, actually."

"Then why are you acting so strange?"

"That isn't my truth to tell," he says, turning to leave.

I shove the sheets off my legs and scramble out of the bed after him. "Since when have you cared about other people's secrets? Just tell me, damn it!"

Ronan spins around, alarm flashing across his face. "Finn, you idiot! You're not supposed to— you have to be— I can't—" He trails off, flabbergasted.

"I'm not sick. I'm not injured. I don't need to be treated like a little kid. Tell me what happened to Becca!"

"You stubborn bastard. Why can't you just let things be?"

"It's fine. I can handle it."

"You say that, but...." Ronan trails off. Then he points at the bed, pursing his lips in miserable resignation. "I don't care if you're in perfectly good health— you almost drowned in a lake a few hours ago, and I don't want to be the one responsible if your brain hemorrhages. So sit your ass down and I'll tell you what happened."

I trudge over to the bed and sit down, but I don't bother pulling the sheets back over my legs. I drum my fingers on the edge of the bed, impatiently awaiting Ronan's explanation.

He walks back to the chair but doesn't sit down. Instead, he leans his arms on the metal back support and says, hesitantly, as if he's afraid of what comes next: "Finn, do you, er, remember what happened when you fell off the boat?"

"Sort of. It's fuzzy, though. I remember falling into the lake, and seeing the kraken, and then...."

It spoke to me.

"And then what?" he prods.

"Nothing. That's the last thing I remember."

Fortunately, Ronan's too upset to recognize that I'm lying, so he doesn't force the subject. He rubs at the back of his head and says, somewhat awkwardly, "Okay. Well... I guess I'm going to have to start from the beginning, then."

"Why?"

He suddenly looks, if possible, even more uncomfortable. "It's complicated."

"Why?"

"For starters, Becca's... sort of in trouble."

"Why? She tried to save me! She held out her hand and then—"

Ronan bites down on his lip. Then he rapid-fire explains to me how Becca realized I was in trouble when I didn't show up to dinner, how the two of them stole a motorboat to sail out onto the lake, how Owen tried to shoot me and then shot the kraken instead.

This is where I interrupt him. "I remember that part," I say, crossly. "How am I supposed to forget the moment when I almost died? Owen was holding a gun to my face. His finger was on the trigger. I literally saw my life flash before my eyes—"

"Okay, okay, I was just making sure. After Owen shot the kraken, the boat split in half and, like you said, you hit your head pretty hard on the way down. For all I know you could have amnesia. Or— brain damage."

"I think I'd know if I had—"

"That's besides the point. You said you wanted to hear my explanation. Do you?"

"Of course I do!"

"Then stop fucking interrupting!"

I shut my mouth and glare at him. Then I motion for him to continue.

"Look. After you fell in the water, Owen climbed onto the motorboat and things got a little crazy after that. The kraken was losing its goddamn mind. There were tentacles everywhere. The boat almost capsized at least a dozen times... it was madness. There were so many waves, I couldn't see where you fell. And when you didn't resurface...."

"What? What happened?"

Ronan meets my gaze. His black eyes are unwavering. "Becca took us all back to shore. I tried to get her to stay, but she wouldn't hear it. She claimed the kraken would kill us if we did. So she left. She left you."

I stare into his black eyes and feel the weight of the truth sink in.

It's all coming back now. My body, sinking in the dark waters of the lake. The white hull of the motorboat gliding away. That terrible ache in my chest when I realized nobody was coming back for me... that voice in my head, whispering that I'd been abandoned for good.

But now I know that it wasn't Owen's fault.

It was Becca's.

Somehow, I manage to force words out of my mouth. "She really... left me?"

"I tried to get her to turn around, Finn, I really did," Ronan says, a hint of desperation in his voice. His eyes are wide and beseeching now, and so, so black. "But she wouldn't. It was terrible. I felt— feel— so terrible. I thought you were gonna die, and that it would be my fault."

"Wait— why would it be your fault?"

"Because I'm the one who convinced you to talk to Owen in the first place! If i wasn't so fucking nosy, and I hadn't made you go, none of this would have happened—"

I grab him by the hand, because I can't think of any other way to get him to stop talking. The abrupt gesture makes him flinch, but he doesn't try to pull away."No. You can't blame yourself for this. Owen would have found a way to get me onto the lake, whether you told me to go or not. This isn't your fault."

Ronan carefully extricates his hand from my grasp. He doesn't look totally convinced, but I can tell that he's relieved— my fall must have really been weighing on him. "I'm sorry, Finn. About all of this. For everything."

I think this is the first time I've ever heard him apologize. It makes me feel a little weird— but also, a little honored. "Don't be sorry, man. I mean, it did work out in the end— I got to see a kraken, and none of us got hurt."

"You fell off a boat, Finn. You almost drowned."

"Oh. True. Well, none of us died. So I consider that a success."

A thin smile cracks across Ronan's face. "Me too."

"And about Becca..." I trail off, not knowing what to say next. I still can't wrap my mind around Becca leaving me behind. It hurts in places of my chest I didn't even think could hurt. The pain feels... visceral, almost. I swallow hard, forcing all of my feelings back down into my stomach to deal with later. "Am I allowed to talk to her? I just want to... I just need to talk to her."

He shifts in his chair. "I'll ask around. But you're going to have to talk to a lot of other people, first. The Director is demanding answers, and so are the counselors— oh, and they also called your parents."

"They did what?"

"It's camp policy, apparently. Or at least that's what the Director told me. She might have just made it up on the spot. Maybe there are special rules for kraken-related accidents...."

I can't even imagine dad's reaction to hearing that I was almost drowned by a mythical creature of the depths. The whole situation just feels surreal. "Did they call your parents too?"

Ronan shakes his head. "Nah. Sybil wanted to ring up Sabrina, but I convinced her not to. I'm not really in the mood to talk with my mother. She'd probably find a way to twist it... make this all my fault.... 'Summoning krakens and stealing motorboats isn't very responsible, young man. Do you ever listen? This is why you'll never be rich and successful like me!''

I give a weak laugh, appreciative of Ronan's attempt to lighten the mood, even if it didn't work very well. "And what about my parents? How did they take the news?"

"They?"

"Yeah, my parents. You said that the Director— Sybil— called them. How did they react?"

That edgy, cornered expression returns to Ronan's face. He bites down on his lower lip and mutters, "Shit, I'm sorry, Finn— I didn't mean both of your parents. They only managed to get hold of your mom."

"Oh." I stare at the floor. I feel my eyes heating up, but I wipe the tears away before they can fall. I can't cry. Not here. Not now. Today has been shitty enough already....

"Your mom was pretty pissed though," says Ronan hurriedly. I hope he can't tell that I'm on the verge of tears. (But knowing him, he probably can.) "I could hear her screaming from the other side of the phone. The Director herself looked scared."

I try to force a smile, but my face refuses to cooperate. "That's my mom."

Ronan's own grin falters for a moment, before he plasters on an even faker one in its place. I can always tell when he's forcing a smile, because his dimples only show when he's genuinely happy. There are no dimples tonight. Only grimaces and apologies.

"I'm sorry about your dad," he says gently. "I'm sure they'll manage to reach him soon. He's probably just busy."

I glance to the side and out the window, the night as dark and shadowy as Ronan's eyes. Outside, the trees sway back in forth in a solemn dance, their branches creaking and groaning beneath a cloudy sky. It would be around seven in the morning in Indiana right now. Dad would be getting ready for his morning shift at the police station... and the phone would be hanging on the wall of his dingy apartment nearby.

For Ronan's sake, not mine, I mumble, "Sure. That sounds about right."

He lifts his hand— almost like he's about to pat me on the shoulder— but then he catches himself and stops, quickly moving to scratch his head instead. I don't take this as a slight. Just knowing that Ronan was considering patting me on the back makes me feel a little better. "Good," he says stiffly, scratching at his spiky hair some more before stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I'm going to go get the Director now, okay? She's going to kill me when she finds out I didn't go get her immediately— so just pretend like this conversation never happened. Act like you just woke up. And, if you need anything, just shout. I think the nurse is sleeping in the other room."

"Wait, what— you're going?"

"No way," he says. All of his hesitance from earlier has dissipated, converted into a calm, controlled sense of confidence. His whole body changes; his shoulder lose their tension, the creases in his forehead slacken out, and his forced grin fades away into more natural, fierce expression. For the first time all night, Ronan looks completely sure of himself. "I'll come back with Sybil, whether she likes it or not. I'm not leaving you behind again."