More voices join the chorus. Friends who abandoned me. Teachers who doubted me. Every person who ever made me feel small. They blend into a symphony ofturn back, give up,andyou’re not strong enough.
But Iamstrong enough. I survived bleeding myself weak. I sacrificed my last good memory of my parents. I held my hand in soul fire for sixty seconds while it tried to burn away everything I am.
After all of it, I’m still standing. Still fighting. Still here.
And so, I continue forward, blocking out the voices with each step along the way.
The moment my feet touch the riverbank, the voices cut off like someone flipped a switch. The silence is almost worse than the noise. Then, mist rolls across the water, thick and clinging, and a boat emerges—ancient wood that looks held together by will alone. And standing at its helm...
Charon.
He’s exactly what you’d expect from the ferryman of the dead. Skeletal hands grip a pole that disappears into shadow water. Empty sockets where eyes should be somehow manage tostare. Tattered robes move without wind. He smells like earth, rot, and things that should stay buried.
He extends one bony hand, palm up, waiting.
Payment.
Logan said I’d have something. That it would become clear to me what that thing was in this moment.
I search my body, and when my hand goes to my throat, my fingers find the jade necklace from my parents. The one from the memory I just sacrificed, the one that should be nothing but smoke and faded photographs in my mind. But here it is, warm against my skin, the last thing my parents gave me before their faith in me was torn away in a single day.
The sacrificed memory floods back in perfect clarity, and I want to hold on, to keep it with me.
Then, Logan’s words echo in my mind.
Give it freely. Don’t hesitate.
So, with trembling fingers, I unclasp the necklace, the jade glowing green. For one heartbeat, I let myself mourn what I’m about to lose. Not just a necklace, but the last thread connecting me to who I used to be—the girl whose parents were finally going to be proud of her, who had a future mapped out in Ivy League acceptance letters and family legacy.
Then I place it in Charon’s skeletal palm, his fingers close around it, and the necklace vanishes at the same time as any remaining emotions I felt along with it. Absorbed into whatever passes for his essence. The last of my parents’ love, given to Death itself as bus fare.
He nods once—a motion that makes every bone in his neck creak—and gestures to the boat.
The wood groans under my weight when I climb aboard, each plank feeling like it might give way at any moment, dropping me into the shadow water below. And up close, I notice the boat iscarved with names. Thousands of them.Millions.Maybe every soul who’s ever made this crossing.
Will mine appear when this is over? Will anyone read it and wonder who Jade Harrington was? Will anyone care?
I’m pulled out of my spiraling thoughts by movement in the corner of my eye. The other passengers. Translucent shadow figures huddled in every corner of the boat, their forms shifting between solid and smoke. Some look human. Others... don’t.
Fear rises in my chest, and as Charon pushes off from the shore, my magic sparks under my skin. But before I can even think about defending myself, the figures turn toward me as one.
Then, they surge.
I stumble back, but there’s nowhere to go. They don’t touch me—they can’t touch me—but they press close, their mouths moving in frantic whispers that overlap into chaos.
“I know who killed Miles,” one hisses, a young woman with hollow eyes. “Such a clever murderer. Such strong, careful hands.”
My breath catches. I want to ask. Gods, I want to ask so badly.
“I know all of Logan’s secrets,” says a man in old-fashioned clothes, his form flickering like static. “What he hides from you. What he’s done. What he’ll do.”
Another presses closer, a child who breaks my heart just by existing in this place. “I know why your magic is different. Why electricity sings in your blood when you should only have fire.”
Desperation claws its way up my throat, begging me to ask for answers. Because these spirits know everything I’ve been wondering. If they told me these truths, my life at Blaze Academy would be so much easier. I’d know who I am again. I wouldn’t have to spend so much time pining and longing andhurtingfor answers I might never have.
But Logan’s warning echoes in my mind:Don’t speak to anyone. Not a single word. Promise me you won’t let them win.
I hold on to that promise as more spirits crowd in. Their whispers become shouts, then screams, the boat rocking with their desperation.
