We’re almost home. Killian will be waiting for me. The thought lifts my spirits considerably.
But he’s not the only person I suddenly ache to see.
As we skirt around the edges of the Southern Quarter, I turn to Stark.
“Can we make a quick stop?” I ask. “I want to update my mother about Saela.”
I know there isn’t any real progress to report, but I want my mother to know I’m still searching. That I’m not giving up.
Stark glances at me, face expressionless. “Fine, just keep it brief. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that the Unity Trial is a week away. All the other Rawbonds will have been training without you these past few days. You need to catch up.”
I nod, grateful for the reprieve. I don’t feel right, after everything that’s happened the last few days. This person who rides a direwolf to the front lines, who tortures Siphons for information—I’m losing track of who I was before.
The thought of seeing my mom, of hugging her…
Shit. Maybe this is less about giving her an update and more about me needing to feel human again. That ache for physical contact is still lurking.
When we reach the Eastern Quarter, however, the sight of my childhood home stops me cold. Every window is dark, shuttered.
I know before my feet hit the ground—before I wrench the front door open and rush inside—that nobody’s home.
The place is dark, cold. Utterly still.
Stark peers down at me from Cratos’ back when I rush back out of the empty house, his brow furrowed. But I’m already running, peeling away down the street towards Igor’s house.
The rough door shudders under my pounding. A moment later, Igor opens it.
His face softens out of its usual gruffness, into something foreign. No, that’s not right. Not foreign.
I’ve seen him make this face before, the night Saela was taken.
Panic sweeps from my head to my toes, hot and dizzying.
“Meryn,” he says gently. “I’m so sorry.”
“No,” I whisper, stepping back as though I can remove myself from the ghastly truth painted across his features. “No, it can’t be.Where is she?”
Igor draws me into the house, his wrinkled hands gentle on my upper arms. I catch sight of Prina in the living room behind him, her plump figure wrapped in a faded dress, her eyes wide and welling with tears of empathy.
“Your mother had another episode,” Igor continues quietly. “A bad one. We didn’t know… she was doing so well until then.”
No.
My mind spins, scrabbling for purchase. For escape. As though I can avert reality by refusing to hear the words.
“Three days ago, she wandered into the city square and… got into some kind of altercation with the guards,” Igor says, his words halting. “They… subdued her. Forcefully.”
“Stop!” I rasp, frozen in desperate denial.“Don’t?—!”
Igor’s face crumples with grief. “She’s dead, Meryn. I’m so sorry. They killed her.”
My ears start to ring. Igor keeps talking—something about her body being taken to the morgue. About him and “Lee” handling the preparations for her funeral.
But I can’t hear him. Something strange is happening. A horrible pulsing thrum gathers behind my eyes. The shadows crouching all over Igor’s house start to pulse in answer.
They deepen and solidify, writhing with inexplicable life.
Igor doesn’t seem to notice. His face is tight with concern. He reaches for me and I stumble back—directly into Stark.
