Tendrils of raw magic burst between us, lashing the air with blue light, crackling into the floor, the walls, into me.
We were shaking as if something else controlled our bodies. Emrys’s left hand spasmed around mine, his knuckles white. His eyes blazed open, glowing like the ley line light that slithered through the chamber.
BOOM.
A shockwave hit the chamber from the southern tunnel. Stone groaned. The roar of Orren’s magic collided with something. Dust rained from the ceiling.
“Emrys!” I called, trying to reach him through the haze of pain.
No reaction.
His body jerked, and a sound escaped his throat—raw, guttural. Still, he didn’t look away from the ley line. He was holding it back. Containing it. Containing me.
The floor shook again. From the northern passage, Camille’s battle cry rang out—sharp and furious, followed by a scream that was definitely not hers.
The pull in my chest nearly gutted me. Did I scream until my lungs hurt or did it suck all my breath?
They came.
Twisted Ones flooded the chamber—moving in jerks and lunges like puppets with broken strings. I recognized their faces.
The woman from the antiquities shop. The British archeologist from the pub. Their skin sagged, their joints popped with every jerking movement. Their mouths hung open in silent screams. Possessed. Devoured.
The dead wore the living like masks.
Orren barreled in after them, vines already bursting from the walls in a frenzy. He struck the first creature down with a whip of thorns, snarling like an animal.
But there were too many.
I turned to Emrys—to scream, to warn him, to run, but he didn’t react. Flashes of wild magic crawled over his skin.The pull twisted my insides as if a clawed hand carved me open.
Suddenly, it stopped. And left me empty.
Hollowed. I gasped, sucking in air greedily. This is what death was like, I thought. Cold and empty.
A jagged line of black tore through the air like a blade across skin. A portal.
Doctor Vexley stepped through, wearing a spotless shirt, his hair combed to the side. Not a drop of sweat, not a speck of dust. My hand balled into a fist, nails digging into my flesh until it bled. How I wanted to smack this arrogant contempt from his face! Yet I couldn’t move, chained by the whipping magic. He walked like he owned the chamber. His eyes landed on Emrys.
Emrys didn’t see him. He was still holding the ley line, barely breathing.
Vexley moved. Swift. Precise. The syringe went into Emrys’s neck like a serpent’s fang.
“NO!” I screamed.
Emrys convulsed once—and dropped.
The Renegade stepped from the portal behind Vexley. No words. No theatrics.
He seized Emrys’s body by the collar and disappeared back into the black.
The portal sealed with a snap of air.
And I fell.
Not to the floor—but into myself.
The void twisted, then howled.
