Reality reforms in darkness.
Kieran and I are standing in front of the iron door that leads to the Ember Archives.
Cordelia’s heat signature glows near the main entrance, but other than that, no one else is in the library.
“We’re clear,” I whisper.
Kieran releases my hand, presses his palm against the iron, and the door swings open.
It would have been nice if the door had done that for me, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers. Especially since I’d beg for Kieran Cross to... no. Absolutely not. That’s a hypothesis I’m not going to finish formulating.
Beyond the door, a spiral staircase descends into darkness. The air rising from below is cool and dry, carrying the smell of dust and old paper.
“After you.” Kieran gestures for me to enter first. “I’ll watch your back.”
The words are simple and tactical, but the intensity in his tone makes them sound like more than strategy.
No. Not going there, either.
The stairs are narrow, carved directly into volcanic rock, worn smooth by centuries of footsteps. Torches ignite as we descend, casting dancing shadows on the walls.
Down and down and down. Two hundred and seventeen steps with Kieran right behind me, his heat signature burning steady against my back like a hand pressed between my shoulder blades.
Finally, the Archives spread out before us, massive and silent. Rows upon rows of shelves stretch into darkness, packed with books, scrolls, and artifacts that fill every available space.
An ancient, forbidden library. We’re inmydomain now.
“This is going to take a while,” I tell Kieran as I start cataloguing the layout, organizing the space into searchable sections. “I need to cross-reference maritime texts, routing records, bestiary entries, star charts… anything that discusses the sea around the island and how to properly navigate it.”
“I assumed as much.”
“You’re going to help me search.” I pull my notes from my bag and thrust half of them at him. “These are the texts I know exist. Start with those.”
He takes the notes, scanning them with a speed that suggests he’s actually reading them. “You’re very organized.”
“I’m a Thorne. Organization is genetic.” I’m already moving to the stacks, my heat sensing guiding me through the darkness. “Now stop talking and start searching. We have work to do.”
JADE
A blurof matted black fur and too many teeth bursts from the tunnel.
Its eyes burn like coals, its claws scrape sparks against the obsidian walls, and smoke curls from its muzzle with every breath. When it opens its jaws, sulfur and rot pour out of its throat, ancient and hungry and wrong in a way that makes me gag.
This isn’t real. This can’t be real.
But itisreal, because it’s lunging, and someone’s screaming, and I think that someone is me.
“Hellhounds!” someone shrieks from my left. “They’re hellhounds!”
I don’t know what that means. I don’t know anything except that more of them are pouring from the tunnels, red eyes multiplying in the darkness like a Mirror Vault nightmare.
Five. Ten. Twenty.
I lose count.
Logan’s hand closes around my wrist so hard it hurts, yanking me backward as claws slice through the air where my face had been. And even though Logan would go back in timeto save my life, that doesn’t make the near-death experience any less terrifying.
Maybe Logandidgo back in time? Maybe that’s why the claws missed?
