Andeven worse? She’s goddamn pissed.
Cassian rips the wheel sideways, sending the car skidding into a turn so sharp the force of it nearly flings me sideways. But the wraith doesn’t falter.
She surges with us, gliding effortlessly along the side of the car.
The speed does nothing to her.
“She’s keeping up,” Nathaniel growls, twisting in his seat to confirm our shared nightmare. “Cass, you need to—”
“I know,” Cassian snaps. He jerks the wheel again, sending us swerving down a side street.
The speed limit is a joke at this point. If we hit so much as a pothole, we’re about to be an abstract smear on the pavement.
And the wraith?
Still unfazed. Still keeping up.
Her body flickers in and out like she’s glitching between dimensions.
I grind my teeth and reach out with my mind, desperately summoning Pain. My raven. My little harbinger of doom who, at the worst possible moments, fucks off to do “bird things”—whatever those are.
But this time, he actually listens.
With a sharp, crackling burst of black feathers, Pain slams into existence on the dashboard, his beady eyes gleaming withsomething a little too intelligent. He lets out a piercing croak and stares at me sharply.
“Scythe!” I yell, stretching my arm out.
I grab Nathaniel's seat and try to keep myself upright. The car’s lurching movements make it damn near impossible, but Pain understands.
With a shuddering, static-charged ripple, Pain does its magic. Its little body trembles, distorting, and then—SNAP.
The scythe slams into my grasp, crackling with raw energy.
The second it materializes, the wraith reacts.
Her head whips toward me like a horror movie jump scare, her entire form twitching and distorting at triple speed. Her mouth stretches open, a jagged, gaping void—
And then she screams.
A bloodcurdling, ear-shattering, glass-rattling shriek that makes the whole car tremble.
“Come on, Cass!” Talon snaps, practically vibrating in the backseat next to me. He’s seeing exactly what I’m seeing, and apparently, his solution is blind, stupid confidence. “We can outrun this bitch, right?!”
I almost feel bad for him. Almost. But considering he created the wraith in the first place, any sympathy is on a strict diet.
And yet, I can taste his fear. It’s almost as pungent as mine, a perfect little cocktail of macabre and regret.
Cassian doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to. We all know the answer.
This isn’t a race.
It’s a funeral with extra steps.
We can’t outrun her.
We can’t outmaneuver her.
We need a different plan—right now.
