The ship rocks violently before settling, and I open my eyes to find us floating on open water. The cave mouth is already receding behind us, hidden by the rocky cliffs, and we’re shrouded in a thick fog that will definitely conceal us from anyone who might be watching from the island.
The water’s as smooth as glass, barely rippling as our ship cuts through it. The sky stretches above us in a uniform gray, with no clouds, no sun, and no horizon line where ocean meets atmosphere. It’s like we’ve sailed off the edge of the world and into nothing.
“Is it supposed to be this quiet?” Evie asks, barely above a whisper.
“No.” Kieran’s hand tightens around the hilt of his dagger. “It’s not.”
No one speaks after that. Because this calm isn’t peaceful.
It’s the silence of a predator waiting to kill.
AVERY
The pain is getting better,and that’s what terrifies me most.
I stare at the ceiling of my room, which I’ve nearly memorized by this point. My body still aches, but it’s a dull throb instead of the sharp, ripping sensation that had me curled up on the bathroom floor after the Halloween Ball. Now, the emptiness in my chest where the emberlink used to burn feels less like a fresh wound and more like a scar.
Everything I’m experiencing points to one horrible, impossible conclusion: Oliver’s dead.
Which means either the Council’s wrong about him being alive out on the sea, or they’re lying. It doesn’t really matter, because in both scenarios, Oliver’s still dead. I know it deep in my soul, even if they refuse to admit it.
A knock on the door makes me flinch.
“Avery?” Alessandra says my name in question. “I brought food. Will you eat with me in the living room?”
Food. Right. A thing people need to survive.
“Give me a minute.”
I force myself to sit up, and the room spins before settling. The weakness is another sign that the emberlink bond is severed.
Distance doesn’t make you feel this broken. Backlash from death, on the other hand, does.
The living room of our third-year suite is small, but just as opulent as the rest of the castle. A velvet couch faces an armchair across a polished coffee table, a handwoven rug softens the stone floor, and three doors lead to our separate bedrooms.
Alessandra’s already set out food on the dining table. The sandwiches, fruit, and soup are arranged in the effortlessly elegant way she does everything.
“You look like you haven’t slept in a week,” she says, which is rich coming from someone who has dark circles under her eyes and her usually perfect waves pulled back in a messy ponytail.
“Given that it’s been nine days, I suppose that’s a compliment.” I rub my eyes and sink into the chair across from her.
“Eat.” She pushes a sandwich toward me. “You’ve barely touched anything since Halloween.”
She’s not wrong. Food has tasted like cardboard ever since.
I take a bite anyway, because Alessandra’s watching me with that concerned expression that makes me feel guilty for worrying her—especially because she has her own problems. Callie’s been acting strange for weeks, disappearing at odd hours and coming back pale and exhausted.
I should ask about that. I should be a better friend.
But it’s hard to care about anything when the person you love is dead and everyone keeps telling you he’s not.
Still, it wouldn’t hurt to try.
“Where’s Callie?” I glance at her bedroom door.
Alessandra’s expression flickers. “I was about to get her.”
She crosses to Callie’s door and knocks. Once. Twice. Three times.
