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Ezra closes his eyes. “Yes.”

Fuck. I remember the scream. I remember digging, remember blood beneath my nails. I remember the ground sealing itself. I remember waking three days later without a heartbeat.

Not dead. Not alive.

Bound.

Sage sits.

For the first time tonight, she looks small.

Not weak. Never that.

Overwhelmed.

Mariah takes her hand. Ali takes the other.

I look away. I shouldn’t care. That’s another lie I’ve stopped telling myself. I care. Far too fucking quickly.

Sage looks down at the red ribbon. “So what does it want from me?”

“The same thing.” Malakai answers quietly.

Ezra’s head snaps toward him. “We don’t know that.”

Malakai meets his glare. “Yes, we do.”

“No.”

“The rites started.”

“They can stop.”

Malakai’s expression hardens. “They never stopped.”

“They did for two hundred years.”

“They slept.”

“Same fucking thing.” Ezra snaps.

“No, Ezra.” Malakai’s voice stays calm, which somehow makes the tension between them worse. “It isn’t.”

Sage pushes to her feet. “Stop.”

They do.

Her gaze moves between them. “What rites?”

Ezra’s jaw tightens, but he says nothing.

Of course Malakai does. “The Cup.”

Recognition flickers across Sage’s face. “The drink.”

“Yes.”

Her brow furrows as she works through it. “The Table?”