But I can’t kill it.
I sink onto something soft—a chair or couch draped in silk—and press my hands to my face.
The shadow on my wrists brushes my cheeks. Cool. Present.
Watching.
Then—
A scent drifts across the room.
Faint. So faint I almost think I imagined it.
Smoke. Frost. Stone.
Thane.
My head snaps up, heart suddenly racing for a different reason.
But there’s nothing. No one.
Just me and the silver fire and the shadows.
The scent fades as quickly as it came, like it was never there.
But I felt it.
For just one moment, I smelled him.
And I don’t know if that makes this better or so much worse.
Somewhere beyond the chamber, distant and muffled, I hear it.
The Nightmare.
That sound that bypasses ears and goes straight to bone. Animalistic. Inhuman. Like a scream turned inside out.
It’s hunting.
Chapter 12
Seth
The Void doesn’t change.
I learned that the hard way about a thousand years ago. Or maybe it’s been three weeks. Time’s kind of a joke here.
Point is: the black stays black, the empty stays empty, and you either get used to it or you go insane.
I got used to it.
Mostly.
I used to mark time by how often I thought about food. Stopped doing that after the cravings made me try chewing on shadows. Turns out, darkness tastes like regret and nothing else.
Now I just walk. Talk to myself. Out loud, because if I don’t, my voice might forget how to work.
“Left foot. Right foot. Thrilling stuff, Seth.”
