“He didn’t follow me.”
Was Marlow still with him? Maybe she wasn’t. Maybe Felix bled out on a dark street somewhere.
The thought was a relief.
“You can’t stay here,” Lottie pressed. “We need to find someone to fix you.”
August closed his eyes. The darkness was heavy, like tar in his lungs, and the thought of moving again was too much to bear. “I just need some rest. I’ll feel better in the morning.”
“Fine. Have it your way.”
When he opened his eyes, she was gone.
He tugged at the laces of his boots, his limbs heavy and uncooperative. He needed sleep.
Whispers stirred, like dry leaves skittering across cobblestones, and pinpricks danced across his fingertips. He ignored the sound. It wasn’t the distressed whisper of an anchored this time. It was different. The gentle, persistent call of the Hollow Dark, tugging like a string drawn taut.
Come home,it seemed to say.
His muscles longed to follow, his mind pleading for him to return. To let that place devour him. It would’ve been so much easier than the constant battle.
If he didn’t have Lottie to keep him grounded, he might have already lost himself to the pull.
August held on firmly, his hands moving to grip the sofa as he waited for it to pass.
The Raven’s Perch, which held only a small gathering of patrons tonight, had fallen eerily silent. A stillness had settled over the place, as if everyone was holding their breath.
August sat hunched in a chair beside Felix’s unconscious form, arms wrapped tightly around himself as every heartbeat sent a sharp, brutal pulse of ice through his body. His lungs felt heavy, still choked with the inky air from the Hollow Dark, and he ground his teeth, fighting to keep his suffering quiet.
He’d done this before. He knew he’d live. Felix, however . . . he wasn’t sure.
Petra held a cold rag on her son’s forehead. The Hollow Dark had leached the life from Felix, leaving him gaunt and pale, his skin too thin over bone.
He looked like an anchored, and August watched the labored rise and fall of his chest just for reassurance that he was still alive.
If he died, it would be August’s fault. He’d dragged him into the Hollow Dark without considering the consequences, how it would affect someone else. And they’d stayed there for so long.It was so unlike him to jump without looking, to act without knowing what would happen.
Chaos and destruction.
August knew his power was dangerous. Knew it would destroy everything he touched. But he’d used it, anyway.
An actual anchored—an older woman with a fur shawl—sat in a chair at the edge of the room, emanating a nervous sort of energy and whispering to herself.
August jumped as the front door swung open.
Marlow paused at the threshold, gaze sweeping over the silent pub. When she found Felix, her eyes went round, and she rushed forward to crouch beside him. Her face tightened with concentration, and red rings ignited in her eyes as she pressed her hands to his chest.
She was a healer.
August took a relieved breath and leaned forward, watching for any changes in Felix’s face while she worked.
When she finally sat back, her skin looked waxen, and shadows hung beneath her eyes.
Felix didn’t look any better.
“His pulse is stable,” she said shakily. “But whatever’s wrong with him, I can’t heal it.”
Petra turned to August, and the venom he found in her eyes made his already seasick stomach churn.
