Jack squeezes my hand, drawing my attention away from the path we’re taking through the forest and back to him. “You said you wanted to talk, and you haven’t spoken a word since you dragged me from the house, which means it’s something you don’t want to tell me.”

I try to work out the best way I can tell him about someone—probably his father, but most likely Faith—trying to kill me before breakfast. “No, I don’t.”

“Is it about Faith? Or my da? Did he—”

“No.” I ...