The more he thought of it, the less certain he was that it had meant anything at all to her, even though it had meanteverythingto him at the time. But she’d gone through that door, and Baz knew that even if—when—she returned, things would never be the same between them. He wasn’t sure he’d want them to be. Between the sting of finding out she used him and the desperate fear of watching her slip through worlds, he hadn’t quite resolved his feelings for her.
Missing her was an ache that hadn’t yet dulled, that might never leave. And yet, in his starkest moments of loneliness, it was not Emory he thought of, or even his sister. It was the boy staring at him now with such disarming vulnerability, the one whose absence had always weighed on his heart, even when Emory was still here.
What was she to you?
Baz didn’t know how to articulate any of this, especially not to Kai. So he said nothing at all.
Silence stretched on. When Kai finally left, muttering something about going to bed, it felt like another door closing before its time.
7EMORY
BRYONY’S UNNATURAL EYES HAUNTED EMORYeven in sleep.
Here in the darkness of her mind, her ghosts were inescapable. They hovered around her in a circle, trapping her. They were in a cave she could never forget, standing on the platform where the Hourglass stood. Except there was no Hourglass here—shestood in its place, for she was like a door herself.
The ghosts drew nearer, tightening the circle. They felt more prominent, more corporeal here in sleep, as if not ghosts at all butreal, as if the sleepscape had torn down the barrier between the living and the dead, and here they all stood together in echo of the night that sealed their fates.
There was Travers, water trickling down the side of his mouth, weeds and barnacles clinging to his body, his face sallow and his body deteriorating before her eyes. “This is all your fault,” he said in a watery voice.
There was Lia, blackened, tongueless mouth opened on a silent scream.Your fault, her frightened eyes echoed.
“Why couldn’t you help us?” This from Jordyn, barely human, with the depthless eyes of an umbra and claw-tipped hands reaching for Emory.
“I tried to warn you it would come to this.” Lizaveta, arms crossed and expression as haughty as it had been in life, blood pooling from the hole at the base of her neck.
And Keiran. Worst of all, Keiran.
But Emory’s attention went to the two people beside him. The circle, it seemed, was not complete with only the dead; the living had joined in, just as eager to blame her for what she’d made them suffer.
The first was Penelope West, eyes red rimmed and haunted. “You let them manipulate me,” she said. “You let them take away my memories. I can’t believe I ever called you a friend. You weren’t worth the effort.”
The second was Baz, who looked at her the same way he had after realizing she’d betrayed him. “Everything you touch crumbles to dust.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. “Please, I’m sorry…”
Keiran stepped into her space, and she was too stunned by how real he looked, too broken by all their accusations, to back away. His hand closed around her neck. She felt the biting cold of him against her skin, a touch of death that seeped into her soul.
Keiran’s ghost did not speak, but the hungry, hateful look in his eyes left no room for interpretation.
He blamed her for leaving him to the umbrae. Loathed her for letting him die. And as his icy grip squeezed tighter around her, she knew this was a promise as much as a threat.
She had killed him, and he would haunt her forever because of it.
He had a hold on her even in death.
Emory did not fight him off, even as every part of her screamed at her to move, to shove him back, to close her eyes and wake up. Keiran’s chokehold tightened, and the voices of everyone else she had hurt rose in the depths of Dovermere, echoing off the walls, slithering along her skin, sinking their teeth into her tortured heart.
And they were right. It was her fault. If it weren’t for her, none of this would have happened.
Maybe the world would be better off without her.
Keiran lifted his other hand to brush her face, his eyes going tender now, like he agreed with the ugly, intrusive thought worming its way into her mind. Like he was offering her the death that would silence it forever.
Maybe it was what she deserved.
“You know they’re not real, right?”
A voice like midnight, cutting through the gloom.
