There has to be another exit somewhere. If I just keep going—
I burst through a set of double doors.
Beyond the doors is a long hallway lined with portraits. Pale faces stare out from the dark paintings, their eyes following me as I run past. My frantic footsteps echo everywhere as I race down the hall and open another set of doors.
Wait.A long hallway of portraits is before me again, seeming to stretch forever.
How the hell did I get back here?
No, this has to be a different one. I take another step, only to see the same faces staring out at me. I-I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. Now I’m all mixed up.
The killer is getting closer. I can’t turn around, so I sprint forward instead. Instinct pushes my feet faster. If something is chasing you, yourun. My arms pump as I race to the end of the hall. I don’t stop, don’t slow, as my feet pound over the floor.
I push through the doors—
Only to be staring down the long hallway with portraits again.
Awful realization prickles my skin. If I keep running in this endless loop, eventually I’ll get exhausted. EvenIcan only run from something for so long. The killer must know it too. He’s wearing me down, toying with me until he can rip me to pieces.
Taking off, arms pumping, I check over my shoulder again—
And slam into something hard like an immovable wall.
No, not something.
Someone.
I look up from the strong chest in front of me and see Amund’s scowling face. Towering over me, he’s as broad as an oak. Relief fills me at the sight of him, even though itshouldn’t. A hunter might be the only thing worse than the killer chasing me.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice low.
I can’t tell him I came here trying to talk to Emilía again, not without revealing we did a séance. It’s forbidden at Skallagrim, and I wouldn’t be the only one in trouble. Irina and Nils would be too.
“Nothing,” I say, my breath heaving as I back away from him.
Amund quickly captures me. A spark shoots through me at the touch of his fingers against my forearm.
“Let me go,” I say. “We have to get the hell out of here.”
“Why?” Amund asks darkly.
“The killer is here.”
His unflinching gaze remains locked on me. “I know.”
I shake my head, frantic. “No, I’m telling you, there’s a berserkr back there. A wolf. A wolf was standing there on two legs, and—”
Amund’s gaze narrows. “Berserkir aren’t bipedal.”
“This one was,” I say. “I saw it myself. Maybe you don’t know as much about berserkir as you think you do.”
“I’ve encountered plenty in the Wilds,” Amund says gruffly. “All quadrupeds.”
All I can think of is when I first saw him—the dead berserkr draped over his horse. “Killed plenty, you mean.”
His lips tighten.
The tension between us pulls taut.
