A voice scratched through a megaphone. Scott looked down from his great height and was surprised to see people swarming all over the property, little black creatures running up and down the paths, devouring the flower beds just like the ants in his office had devoured the cockroaches. He ought to call Yves, tell him to do a pest spray.

But then he remembered that Yves had taken his family and disappeared without a word. Scott had been to his house and found it empty as a mausoleum. Touché, my friend, he’d thought as he surveyed the bare floorboards.

Another strange sound; something was wailing. The gates at the top of the driveway had swung open and cars were streaming through, flashing with pretty lights. They stopped outside the family house, and from their doors burst more swarming creatures.

A woman strode into their midst and barked orders, a woman in uniform with short dark hair and thick-rimmed glasses. The Ant Queen, Scott thought.

He watched things unfold with a detached curiosity. He saw the Ant Queen talking into her phone. Saw her army of ants swarming in and out of his home, spilling from the front door as if from the mouth of a corpse. Saw them bearing his wife away, carrying her from the house bucking and howling, shaking her beautiful head from side to side, her face red and screwed up like a newborn baby’s. Nina was thrashing so violently that the ants were pulled in all directions; they struggled to keep their grip, their cheeks wet with her spit. She screamed, and her teeth flashed white.

“Aureeeeeliaaaaaaa!”

Then Aurelia herself appeared, and Scott felt a dull kick in his belly, a sudden drop that made him think of theme parks.

Aurelia fought like she was being taken to the gallows, her little fingers scrabbling and scratching, her feet lashing out at whatever they could find. She cried petrified, hysterical tears and threw back her head, shrieking her terror to the sky.

Nina reached out to the specter of their dead child one last time before the little ant men forced them both apart, wrestling them into separate police cars. They shoved the doors closed as if rolling a stone across a tomb.

And above it all Scott looked on: impassive, invulnerable. Amid the chaos, the Ant Queen’s eyes locked onto his winged form, and he felt momentarily stunned, turned inside out by her stare.

The Ant Queen opened her mouth, her palm flat in front of her. Stop, she commanded.

As she broke into a run, Scott tore his eyes away, seeking instead the flat majesty of the ocean. He found himself thinking not of his own escape, but of Emily. He could still feel her in his arms, still hear her voice. “Why am I here?” she’d asked. At the time the answer had seemed simple. He’d hired her because he needed help. Because she was a weak, suggestible person who wouldn’t ask questions, a lost soul who wanted to be found. He remembered how ecstatic he’d been when he opened that orange envelope in his office. As he read the court transcripts, the welfare report, and the psychologist’s profile, he knew he’d hit the jackpot. He’d found the one person in the world who would understand, who would connect with his family and see their line of reasoning.

But standing there on the balcony with his arms outstretched, the truth came to him with diamond-hard clarity. He’d had the whole thing back to front from the very beginning. Emily had been the right choice, not because she would support them but because she wouldn’t. She would identify with Aurelia’s experience, but she would also abhor it. She would see the nightmare for what it was. And she would end it.

Without even knowing it, he’d hired Emily for this. He’d seen her heart and knew she would do what he never could.

Scott felt his toes curl over the edge of something metallic. He looked down and saw his feet balancing on the balustrade—not birdlike at all, not claws, but pale pink and fleshy, like baby mice.

It’s over, he thought as he listened to the thump of footsteps on the stairs.

And he was surprised to find that he didn’t feel sad. He didn’t feel angry or scared or full of regret.

He felt free.

EPILOGUE

EMILY FOUND her parents in the garden, sitting on the terrace under the cherry tree, empty dinner plates on the table in front of them. Juliet was reading aloud from a newspaper, the pages tilted toward the glare of a camping lantern; Peter was reclining in his chair, his hands clasped over his stomach.

“You okay, love?” Peter said, regarding her over the top of his glasses. “You look a bit peaky.”

Emily took a deep breath, questions swarming in her head. Here it is, she thought. This is the perfect opportunity to ask.

A full moon was rising early, its pale face just visible through the branches of the tree. She studied her mother’s face, her hands, remembering all the times Juliet had tucked her into bed, picked her up when she fell, clapped when she learned something new. Her father’s eyes, once bright and blue, had seen her laugh and cry, dance and run, fail and succeed. Now, soft pouches hung beneath them like bruised plums, and his cheeks were mottled with broken capillaries. When had he become so old?

She realized then how selfish she’d been. She’d treated her parents like monsters when in fact they were just a bit annoying, probably no more so than anyone else’s mum and dad. It wasn’t true that they never listened; Emily had just never given them the chance. Well, that chance was here. It was now.

“You’re right,” she said, “I’m not feeling great. But you know what might make me feel better?”

“What’s that, darling?”

She nearly said it. She was so close. What happened to me? Where did I come from? Who am I? But Juliet’s tender expression made her think again. Her parents had done their best, and she was okay. There was nothing wrong with her, nothing rotten inside. Sure, she had a few issues, but she’d made it out of the woods, both literally and figuratively, and she could do it again if she had to. She may have been a victim once, but she wasn’t anymore. Perhaps some things were better left buried.

Emily smiled. “A nice cup of tea.”

“Cracking idea,” Peter said, “Pop the kettle on, would you, love?”

Emily walked back toward the house. Just as she reached the back door, Juliet’s voice followed her down the garden path. “There are biscuits in the tin, too, darling. Your favorite.”

Emily stopped, her fingers resting on the door handle. Somewhere inside her, things were beginning to shift. It was as if, after years of scrabbling around trying to pick up all the patchwork pieces of her life, she finally held them all in her hands. And even though there was no way of knowing yet how they all fit together, she knew that someday they would.

“Thanks, Mum,” she called back.

Raising her face to the fading light, Emily watched as violet clouds merged and parted, drifting soundlessly across the sky, revealing a faint splatter of tiny, winking lights.

The stars were coming out.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

It is an honor and a privilege to acknowledge my teammates. All you phenomenal people who took a chance on me, who saw the potential in my manuscript, and who have worked so hard and so collaboratively to put it out into the world. Guys, you’ve changed my life. Because of you, both my book and I are much better versions of ourselves. Huge heartfelt thanks to:

My spectacular agents. Hillary Jacobson (my first yes), whose relentless Graft and unerring faith in me is a daily miracle, and Tara Wynne, whose advice, reassurance, friendship, and sharp elbows mean the world to me. How I lucked out with you two I will never know. Shout out to the wider teams at Curtis Brown Australia and ICM Partners, for all their support. I’m also forever grateful to the very wonderful Katie Greenstreet at C+W, as well as Kate Cooper and the translation rights team at Curtis Brown UK.

My exceptional publishers the world over. At Minotaur Books, Catherine Richards has managed somehow to convince me that she has been standing by my side throughout this entire journey whilst actually remaining thousands of miles away. Catherine, I could not be more grateful for your guidance, generosity, and eagle-eyed editing expertise. Additional thanks to Nettie Finn, Hector DeJean, Joe Brosnan, Steve Erickson, Kelley Ragland, and the wider team, who have pulled out all the stops to make this book the best it can be.

Over at Affirm Press, I could not do without the extraordinary passion and enthusiasm of Martin Hughes, which truly has to be experienced first-hand to be believed. Both he and Ruby Ashby-Orr have proved to be the rigorous and insightful editors that both I and this book so desperately needed, while Keiran Rogers and Grace Breen continue to amaze me with their warmth and dedication. Big love to the whole gorgeous gang.