The dead man shakes his head. “Not me... I was never… against you.”
My hands curl into fists. “You fled, went into hiding. Then we found you with the Green Cloaks. That’s not betrayal?”
His expression twists with pain, frustration. “Green Cloaks… captured me… compelled me to… command…. her death… then taken. Tortured.” A shudder ripples through him. “Never gave them… anything.” His bones creak as he draws in a rattling breath. “When you came… to The Divide… killed me.”
Jasmine starts forwards, but I block her with my arm. I don’t trust this. I don’t trust him.
“You… met… before,” he wheezes.
“I already know that.” I scowl. “Youwere there. Why?”
Prospero’s hollow gaze finds Jasmine again, and something in it makes my stomach turn.
Then he says, “All of you… met before.”
“What?” Jasmine’s voice is just a breath.
Prospero twitches. “The four of you… Her.” His eyes fall back to me.
“Julien?” I ask sharply. “What the hell is he talking about?”
Julienmoves closer, and he looks pale.“I… I don’t understand. I don’t remember meeting her. I would—”
“Too much. Too soon. Almost killed… all of you...” Prospero shakes his head. “Ezekial… stopped it.”
“Kane?” I seek out my brother, my confidence, my wall of absolute. “What does he mean? Tell me what he means.”
Kane is right behind me, darkness solidified, but his voice isn’t. “I don’t know.”
“Rune.” Prospero breathes. “Ancient.” A slow blink. “Your order.”
“The rune…” Sai’s voice is a horrific combination of terror and realisation. “It’s a blood rune. It’s a fuckingbloodrune.”
I’m submerged, drowning in all these words, all these revelations, trying to meld the broken pieces together. Then I see the look on Prospero’s face.
There’s more? He has something more horrific to say than this?
Prospero exhales, and it almost sounds like pity. “You erased… memories.” His glowing eyes flicker over each of us—all five of us. “All of them.”
“No.” The word slips out. Low. Laced in darkness. Hardly mine.
“Only… I remembered.” Prospero’s fingers twitch. “I hid her.” His gaze flits to Jasmine. “For you.” To us. “For them.” Another breath—rough, shallow. “To keep you all… alive.”
Prospero exhales shakily, frustration flashing through his dulling gaze. His body is failing, and he knows it. He’s running out of time.
Then his focus sharpens, locking onto me. “See, Ezekial.”
My blood stills.
Kane moves. “No, Ezekial—”
My barrier slams into place, blocking him as Prospero raises a shaking hand.
An invitation. A plea.
I step forwards.
I take his wrist.
