“Dad!” I breathe a sigh of relief. He must have been turned. He must be here to help.
And then I see it.
His eyes flash an ink-black, the same depthless void as the obsidian veins threading Mourn Peak. My pulse misfires, and I feel his enthralled power searching mine, trying to dig its claws in. It’s not my father.
It’s as if the Siphon reached into my memories, sifted through every fear I carry—and chose the one person it knew could break me. The one person who knows every weakness I’ve ever had.
Something in me shifts.
Power surges up my spine before I can stop it. I fling him backwards with a violent pull of energy, launching him through the air. The recoil slams into me just as hard, staggering me a step.
“It’s okay, Nala—go!” I shout.
She hesitates, eyes flicking between my father’s crumpled form and my face, torn.
“Go,” I repeat, firmer. “I’ve got this.”
She holds my gaze for a heartbeat longer, searching for doubt. Finding none, she gives a sharp nod. Kareem crouches, and with a powerful beat of his wings, he carries them skyward.
My attention snaps back to the man lying motionless in the dirt.
Please let that have been enough to shock his system.
“Dad?” I call, moving closer. Carefully. Every step tightens my chest. “Are you okay?”
What if he hit his head? What if I—
Gods, what if I killed him?
“Dad?” I reach out, fingers trembling, brushing his cheek—
His eyes snap open, and my heart tremors. Black sludge leaks from his pupils, spiralling outward as it devours the whites of his eyes and swallows his irises whole. The vision makes me shudder.
His grip clamps around my wrist again, crushing. With inhuman strength, he hurls me backwards. My spine slams into the trunk of a tree, the impact ripping a groan from my throat.
Stars burst across my vision, and my head thrums.
When it clears, he’s already moving toward me in a slow and deliberate stance, almost predatory.
“Dad… you have to fight this,” I plead. “This isn’t you.”
He bends and retrieves his blade from the ground, eyes fixed on me as firelight glints along the metal. My breath catches.
“Dad,” I whisper. “Please.”
I push myself to my feet, heart tearing itself in two. I could stop him. I know I could.
But this is my father.
I would never forgive myself if I hurt him.
“Asha, baby,” he says gently, voice warm, and painfully familiar. “It’s me. Don’t be scared, I’m trying to help you.”
The lie is perfect, but just like the Hollows craft.
His eyes are not.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “That’s not you. You have to fight it—”
