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The sight that greets me steals the breath from my lungs.

The warehouse stretches before me like a vast human maze, row upon row of cages extending into the shadows. Within each metal prison, people are huddled naked, stripped of both clothing and dignity. The stench hits me next, sweat, urine, fear so thick I can taste it. Overhead lights cast harsh shadows across gaunt faces pressed against bars, eyes following my movement with desperate hope.

“Help us,” a woman whispers as I pass her cage, her arm extending through the bars toward me.

“Guard! There’s someone here!” a man calls out, perhaps hoping to earn favor.

“Quiet,” I hiss, pressing a finger to my lips. “I’m looking for someone.”

I move deeper into the warehouse, my eyes scanning each cage, each face. They are sorted by usefulness, young women in one section, strong-looking men in another, and children huddled together in smaller cages near the back. Some reach for me as I pass, fingers brushing against King Kylian’s jacket.

“Water, please,” an elderly man begs.

I shake my head. “I don’t have any,” I murmur, heartbroken, knowing I can’t help these people.

“Tell my family in Westhollow I’m alive,” pleads another.

Each plea cuts deeper than the last, but I can’t stop. Somewhere in this hell is Sable, my gentle sister with her soft voice and kind eyes. I have to find her before they sell her, before she disappears into some noble’s estate or worse.

“Sable?” I call softly as I move, careful not to alert the guards. “Sable, are you here?”

I am halfway down an aisle of women’s cages when rough hands grab my coat from between the bars, yanking me backward with surprising strength. I thrash instinctively, trying to break free.

“Please, let me out,” the woman begs, her fingers digging into Kylian’s jacket. “Let me out before they come back!”

I try to pry her fingers loose, but her grip only tightens, twisting the material until it cuts into my neck.

“I can’t . . .”

“Hey!” The shout comes from the end of the aisle. Two guards have spotted us, their faces hardening as they recognize an intruder. “You there! Stop!”

Terror shoots through me like lightning. I finally wrench free of the woman’s grasp, leaving a piece of the jacket’s sleeve in her hands as I take off. The guards’ heavy footsteps pound behind me, joined quickly by others as shouts of alarm spread through the warehouse.

I dart through the maze of cages, taking random turns, trying to lose my pursuers. Hands reach for me from every side, attempting to grab anything of value. A few even try to stop me for the guards. I duck under grasping fingers, swerve around corners, my lungs burning with exertion.

Glancing up, I spot a balcony running along the upper level of the warehouse, and more guards are already rushing down metal stairs to join the chase. I am being surrounded, cut off from escape routes. These aren’t the half-hearted guards from Purgatory Island; these men move with precision, and the heavy roller doors groan as they swiftly drop.

I round another corner, desperate for any exit, only to crash headfirst into what feels like a stone wall. The impact knocks me backward, and I hit the ground hard, the air rushing from my lungs.

Dazed, I look up, expecting another guard. Instead, I find myself staring into the coldest eyes I’ve ever encountered.

The man standing over me wears clothes too fine for this place, a tailored jacket of deep burgundy, embroidered with silver thread that catches the light as he moves. Not a guard or worker, but someone important. Though he appears to be in his mid-thirties, his eyes hold the weight of centuries, predatory and calculating. Despite his strikingly handsome features, there is nothing human in that gaze. I’ve seen plenty of demons over my years in Purgatory, but none were as menacing as this one.

“What have we here?” he murmurs, his deceivingly soft voice making my skin crawl.

Footsteps thunder from all directions as guards surround us. One skids to a halt beside the well-dressed man, bowing deeply.

“King Xavian,” the guard says. “I’m sorry, my king. She must have escaped the . . .”

The king raises a hand, silencing the guard without taking his eyes off me.

“Quiet,” he commands, studying my face with unsettling intensity. “You look just like her. The resemblance is remarkable.”

He reaches for me, and I scramble backward on my hands until I hit a crate, trapping myself. With effortless strength, he grabs the front of Kylian’s jacket, lifting me until my feet barely touch the ground. I hang there, helpless in a predator’s jaws.

He leans closer, his eyes closing as he inhales deeply through his nose. My heart hammers against my ribs.

When his eyes snap open, something like triumph flashes in their depths.