ZOEY
The next “morning,”before sunset, pounding on my door jolts me awake.
“Zoey.” Aethelthryth’s voice is sharp and urgent. “Get up. Now.”
I blink groggily, disoriented by being woken before my usual time.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, but she’s already inside my room, tossing a dress at me.
“Put this on,” she says. “Quickly.”
Something in her tone makes my stomach drop, and I change as fast as I can, not caring that she’s watching.
The moment I slip on my shoes, she grabs my arm and practically drags me from the room, down the halls, and into the courtyard, where a few people have gathered near the center fountain. Katerina, Nathanial, Sebastian, and Aurora, each of them accompanied by their handlers. They must be the early risers—although I wouldn’t know, since I’ve never been the type to wake up early.
They’re all just standing in a circle, staring at something in the center.
I hurry toward the commotion, weaving through the onlookers, my heart hammering so hard it’s like it’s trying to claw its way out of my chest.
Then, midway there, I see it.
No—I seehim.
Jake.
He’s sprawled on the ground beside the fountain, lifeless and crumpled like a discarded doll. His skin is pale—too pale. His eyes, wide open, stare at nothing. They look wrong, the life drained from them, their usual glint of hopeful humor replaced with a glassy, vacant emptiness.
But it’s his throat that makes the bile swirl in my stomach. A single, clean slice that gapes like a second mouth. The wound is grotesquely precise, as if whoever did this took their time, making sure it was perfect.
I don’t remember moving, but suddenly I’m standing between Sebastian and Aurora. Neither of them looks at me. No one does. Their gazes are glued to Jake, their expressions frozen masks of fear and revulsion.
This can’t be happening.
It doesn’t make sense.
All the moments I’ve shared with Jake flash through my mind in a dizzying blur—his attempted charm during swim lessons, his boyish grin when he explained penguin courtship rituals, and the way he kissed me here in this courtyard, tentative and hopeful.
Despite how defensive he was yesterday, I do think he cared for me. Not love, but something hebelievedwas love.
How could that Jake be the same person lying in front of me now, empty and discarded?
Part of me wants to believe I’ll wake up from this nightmare at any second. The other, more practical part knows this isn’t a dream. It’s too real—too vivid.
Jake’s gone. He’s never coming back. And, as much as I don’t want to believe it’s true, every single instinct in my body is saying that this happened because of me. It lines up too perfectly with the incident in the garden yesterday not to be connected.
My gaze darts away, desperate to find something to focus on other than Jake’s body.
It lands on the fountain, which is turned off.
But the basin isn’t empty.
Instead of the usual watery blood mixture that flows through it, there’s something thicker. Darker. More viscous.
It’s no longer watered-down blood.
It’spureblood.
My stomach churns, and I stagger back, barely catching myself before crashing into Aurora.
