Fell through the clouds.
Fell through the sky.
Fell toward the ocean, the mountains, and death itself.
Sol screamed.
And screamed.
And screamed.
Chapter forty-three
The One Who Fell
Sol
I don’t want to die!
Sol fell.
The world vanished in a single violent gasp of white.
The clouds devoured her, dragging her into their frozen belly, spinning her end over end until she no longer knew where the sky ended and the sea began.
Help!
Air slammed against her body so hard it felt like hands—cold, merciless hands—shoving her downward.
Faster.
Faster.
Faster.
Her stomach climbed into her throat.
Her heartbeat became a frantic, shredding stutter.
There was no spell to cast.
No hope.
No slowing the plummet.
She was falling from a height no human could survive, and the ocean waited below to be her silver-blue grave.
The wind tore the breath from her lungs. She opened her mouth to scream, but the sound ripped away instantly.
Stolen by velocity.
Swallowed by the storm.
Above, Pyrran’s laughter boomed through the clouds.
He was savoring this—her panic, her helpless flailing, the way her body twisted in freefall like a broken marionette.
Monster!
