A door, hidden in the stone, creaks open beside us.
“Climb the stairs that do not exist,”the ghost intones,“to the room of nothing.”
Solena glances at me, confusion clouding her face, but I tug her forward. We don’t have a choice.
I drag her through the door, then we sprint down the dimly lit halls, every turn a fevered guess, my senses straining for the sound of Blades in pursuit, or worse—Lanneth’s maddened voice. Solena stumbles behind me, her questions barely registering as I fixate on what I must find.The stairs that do not exist. But the endless, identical corridors make everything blur together, and doubt creeps in with every step.
Suddenly, I skid to a halt, Solena crashing into my back.
Ahead, a shimmer flickers between the two branching corridors—just like the ghost had said. The stairs are there, though I can’t see them. Only the faint glimmer gives them away. My pulse quickens as I glance down at my hand. It’s healed. Toohealed. I can see the shimmer, can feel the veil of magic between realities, but it’s hazy. Incomplete.
I know what this means. The only way to tear down the veil is through pain.
I have no blade, no way to hurt myself in this barren hallway.
I take a deep breath and turn to Solena, my heart hammering. “Break my finger.”
Her eyes widen in disbelief. “Pardon?”
“There’s no time to explain,” I say with urgency, thrusting my hand toward her.
“Yes, well, perhaps you better,” she says firmly, shaking her head. “I will not.”
The sounds of approaching Blades—footsteps, metal clanging—fill the hall. Lanneth’s screeches echo down the stone passage, closer now.
“You heard her. I refuse to be trapped here. Baev’kalath cannot be my end.” I swallow the fear crawling up my throat. “Please, Solena.”
Solena glances over her shoulder, the voices growing louder. Her hesitation is agony, and I nearly take matters into my own hands when she finally grabs my wrist. With a sickening snap, she breaks my finger.
The pain shoots up my arm, blinding and hot, but I bite down hard, swallowing the scream that burns in my throat. Tears sting my eyes as I turn back to the shimmer, watching as the stairs slowly materialize, step by step. But they’re still not fully solid.
“Another,” I grit through clenched teeth, the dizziness threatening to drag me under.
Solena hesitates for only a second before taking another finger and snapping it cleanly. The pain is so intense I nearly double over, muffling my scream in my sleeve. The world tilts, and for a moment, everything spins, but then—the stairs are there. Fully formed. Solid.
“Go,” I manage, dragging Solena forward as we climb the ethereal steps. My hand dangles uselessly at my side, the throb of pain a constant reminder that we are teetering between life and death.
“Come on,” I urge, tugging Solena as the steps flicker in and out of existence, and she falters, her eyes wide with fear. But I tighten my grip on her, pushing us forward.
Ahead, the door looms, the ghost’s words lingering in my mind.The room of nothing.
We halt before the door, memories of the last time flooding back—just emptiness beyond it. I cling to the hope that the pain surging through me will show me what I need this time. My hand trembles as I push the door open.
What greets me is no longer a barren room. A cage dominates the space. Inside, there’s a lavish bed draped in silk covers, a velvet chair beside a pile of worn books, and a table laid out with silver platters of food and jugs of water and wine. It’s a beautifully curated prison, designed for comfort and elegance—but a cage, nonetheless.
And then she appears. She glides past the bars, her fingers trailing along the cold metal. Her blue-black hair frames her sharp, delicate face, and her gray eyes glint like polished slate. A mischievous smile curls on her lips, and when she giggles, the sound is haunting, almost hypnotic.
“Are you ready to run, Amara?” Her voice is light, playful, as if we’re sharing a secret.
“It’s you,” I gasp. “The ghost.”
Her fingers tighten around the bars, pressing her face so close it’s almost as if she’s trying to break through. “No, not a ghost. Ghosts are dead. And I am very much alive—despite their best efforts.” She tips her head toward the lock. “Now, be a dear and let me out, won’t you?”
I take a hesitant step forward, but Solena’s hand shoots out, gripping my arm tightly. Her touch grounds me, making me question myself.
“How can I trust you?” I ask, my voice shaky.
The woman tilts her head, her smile never faltering. “Trust? There’s nothing I could say now—or before Lanneth finds you, drags you down those stairs, and locks you in a cage like mine—that would convince you of my character. Instead, I’ll ask you one thing—do you want to die?”
