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PROLOGUE

97 days earlier

LIGHT BREEZES SWEPT the dunes of Turtle Beach.

Gentle gusts that spun eddies in the bone-white sand before whistling into the dark woods beyond.

The sky was enormous, black and moonless. Though well past sunset, the air remained muggy, thick, and warm.

Another quiet night on Loggerhead Island.

But not business as usual.

Just past the tree line, beneath the looming hulk of Tern Point, a monkey troop clustered high up in the branches of a longleaf pine.

Silent.

Observing the forest floor.

Below, in a small meadow bordering the tree’s massive roots, a shovel rose, fell, rose again. Fresh dirt landed atop an already knee-high pile.

The digger wore a thick brown cloak, incongruous in the stifling heat. The billowing garment engulfed its owner, hung to the tips of battered black boots.

Sweat glistened on a crinkled brow.

The figure paused, smiled up at the simian audience, content to share the moment.

Years of waiting, then months of meticulous planning.

It was finally time.

The Game was about to begin.

The digger resumed, patient, persistently gouging the rich, black soil. The pit was three feet deep, and growing.

Almost finished.

The digger halted again. Stretched. Breathed deeply, inhaling a heady bouquet of loamy earth, wet grass, and honeysuckle.

A giggle escaped—shrill and birdlike, it lingered for long moments before dying with an atonal squeak.

Above, the primates shifted, nervous, alert to danger. Two young males scampered higher into the shadows of the canopy. But the group stayed. Spellbound. Watching.

Abandoning the spade, the digger reached into a canvas bag and removed a small bundle. Kissed it once. Reverently placed it inside the hole.

The Game was afoot.

“Come and find me,” the digger whispered, heartbeat loud enough to still the frogs.

Humming tunelessly, the digger filled the hole and covered the surface with dead leaves. Stepped back. Located a wristwatch button with one trembling finger. Pressed.

Ding.

The childish giggle sounded once more.

It’s done. The key is buried.

“Time to play.”

Hefting the bag and shovel, the digger stole into the shadows.