His mother’s unforgiving scowl. “I’ve given you a task. You will complete it.”
“No, I don’t want to!”
He could see the corpse in the training room. He felt the scream that tore free from his chest, the magic buzzing angrily in his fingers, beneath his skin. The desperation and pain and resentment.
The memory burned through him like fire. He felt the weight as he sent the anchored forward. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. He’d only wanted her to stop. She fell, and panic, grief, regret tightened around his throat like a noose.
The scorched handprint on her arm. He remembered now. It was his. He knew how she got it. And he knew how to save Felix—but he’d have to be quick.
August’s eyes snapped open. “Back up,” he whispered, and when Marlow looked up at him with a frown, dirt stuck to her wet cheeks, he tried again, louder. “Back up!”
She flinched, but complied.
He didn’t wait to see if she was clear before yanking the edges of the remaining tear around them. The cold settled over him like a sheet.
August closed his eyes and reached out with his magic, feeling the places where the anchored made the air shiver, desperately searching for the right one. He wasn’t sure how long it took, but when he found it, he knew.
He clenched his fists and drew the mist in, then pressed his hand to Felix’s chest, fingers splayed as he forced it back where it belonged. Felix’s skin turned painfully cold beneath his touch, solid like ice. August took a shaky breath, then drew in the inky energy of the Hollow Dark, and set to work on healing the wound.
The sounds of the city were familiar and calming as the grip of sleep loosened. Felix ran a hand over the rough sheets of his bed, in no hurry to open his eyes. He was still tired.
When he pulled in a slow breath, the scent of decay caught in his throat, and he startled upright, taking in the room.
Itwashis bedroom. Only, it was different. The walls were cracked, and dead, colourless vines curled in through his window. Golden sunlight filtered through the tattered curtains.
For a moment, he thought he must be dreaming. But the usual ache in his leg assured him he wasn’t. He sat up, reaching for his prosthetic, and after fumbling sleepily with the straps, had it fastened back in place.
He felt strange. Disconnected in a way he couldn’t explain. He flexed his fingers, trying to pinpoint the difference.
Cold pressed against his chest, as if someone had packed snow against it while he slept. He unbuttoned his shirt and stared down at the smudged black handprint over his heart. When his finger brushed the mark, the icy feel of it sent a shiver through him.
What happened?
Then, his thoughts caught up with him.
He was at The Raven’s Perch. It wasn’t in the Hollow Dark anymore.
The ministry. The royal guards. Ashcroft.
He shoved off the bed, stumbled through the hallway, and almost lost his footing as he rushed down the rickety stairs to the pub below.
He found Marlow first, and the relief was staggering. She was here. She was safe.
Lark and Niall sat across from her in the wooden booth. Niall’s face was marred with burns, partially healed, and an angry cut stretched across Lark’s cheek.
Felix stumbled forward, dizzy and off-balance, catching himself on the back of a chair. Marlow was there in a breath, her arms wrapping around him tight enough to force the air from his lungs.
He squeezed her back as his gaze took in the pub. It was worn and cracked, more grey vines forcing their way through the windows. The rest of the tables were empty.
This place had spent two years on the other side of the veil, but it was still standing. Mostly.
“Gideon’s dead.” The words tumbled out as if Marlow had been fighting to hold them in, and Felix’s brow furrowed. He sifted through the chaos of it all, remembering.
August had killed him.
Felix still wasn’t sure what the guard had done, but he knew August hadn’t been the one in control.
Was he still dangerous? Had Felix fixed whatever had twisted him?
