Someone grabbed Zach by the collar, yanking him back so hard he hit the ground. I lunged for him, but a hand clamped down on my shoulder, twisting me away.
“Unclean,” one of them spat. “Both of you.”
“Leave him alone!” I screamed. My nails raked skin, caught fabric. A slap cracked across my face, sharp enough to send stars bursting behind my eyes.
Zach was still fighting, kicking, shouting words I couldn’t hear. One of the Shepherds brought down the cane, the sound of it striking bone was something I’d never forget.
“No!” My voice broke. I struggled against the hands holding me, biting, kicking, anything to get to him.
“Enough!” another barked. “Take him to the Circle.”
Zach’s head lifted, blood running down his cheek. His gaze found mine. Even then, even broken, he tried to smile. “Don’t let them change you, Lark.”
Then they dragged him away.
The rest was a blur, the hands shoving me to my knees, the chant starting low and steady, the firelight turning the sky gold.
They made me listen.
I never saw him burn, but I heard the crowd’s cry when the flames caught. I smelled the smoke. The Shepherd beside me leaned close, whispering, “The fire purifies. You will thank us for saving your soul.”
I didn’t thank him. I didn’t speak at all.
Something inside me turned cold, solid as iron.
When they pulled me toward the Circle, I was no longer the same girl who’d followed Zach into the dark.
That girl had burned with him.
They said I needed to be cleansed.
They tied my wrists and led me toward the flame, the same one that had devoured Zach.
I didn’t cry. Not when the heat kissed my skin. Not when the smell of burning flesh filled the air.
I only looked up at the sky and made a promise.
They could take everything from me—except my will to surrender.
CHAPTER ONE
PRESENT DAY
CHILDRENof the Flame Compound
The pills hadn’t kicked in fast enough.But that wasn’t the real mistake. The real mistake was hope. One of the mothers told me once that hope was a liar dressed in light.
“It’ll keep you alive just long enough to get yourself killed.”
And still, I believed in it. Believed in Ash. Believed in something outside these burning walls. For months we’d planned it, coded notes hidden in books, quiet glances across prayer circles, whispers passed under the crack of a door. Ashworked the outside, gathering the men who’d come for us when the time was right. I worked the inside, moving among the Shepherds, smiling when I had to, listening when I shouldn’t. The goal was simple: when the fire rose, we’d run. Free the children. Free Sable. Free Miriam. And if we couldn’t save them all, then at least we’d burn this place down trying.
But hope has teeth. And tonight, it bit back.
Heat rolled through the corridor in shimmering waves. Smoke crawled the walls like it had a mind of its own. Somewhere down the hall, the chapel bells rang — wild, frantic — and I knew the fire had reached the altar. Screams followed, colliding with prayer, and the whole place began to sound like the inside of hell. That was the plan. The fire was the signal. The distraction. My door out.
The guards were supposed to drop after the wine I drugged. Supposed to, but they were larger men than I gave them credit for, and I’d never known how much poison it took to knock out a lifetime of blind faith. I slipped down the hall anyway, bare feet on cool stone, pulse steady, breath thin. Every sound felt amplified, the crackle of wood, the drip of water from the ceiling, the whisper of my skirt dragging over the floor.
And then—
