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They jump when I appear at their side and nearly topple. Their skin has gone waxy and their eyes too wide. “I’m not going to make it.” Their exhale is shaky. “Nonnie did their job too well. My leg is giving out.”

“Shut the fuck up.” I slip an arm around their waist and lunge forward, aiming for the deeper shadows near the door.

The drain from jumping alone is nearly imperceptible. Like the other night, taking Vesper is so much more difficult. I don’t know if it’s because they’re an additional person or because they’re a champion for a different god; we haven’t had the time to figure out the parameters of anything. I gasp as we appear, my lungs tight in my chest. “I’ll get Cato.”

“Wait.” Vesper grips my arm, fingers clawlike. “You can’t jump with too many people. You’ll pass out again.”

I hate that they’re right. Speed is the priority right now. If Cato has to carry me, we’re all dead. “I jumped multiple times before passing out.”

“We can’t risk it.” Vesper curses. “You shouldn’t have done it just now.”

As much as I want to hide in this doorway, to draw the shadows close until we’re all but invisible to both the Chariot and the Wands, I refuse to leave Cato. He saved me last night when he could have left us both behind, and I’ll be damned before I reward that loyalty by abandoning him to save my own skin. I shake Vesper off. “Get the door open.”

The Chariot is focused on Cato now. He must have just made a pass, because he’s creating a large circle as he changes course to go after Cato again.

For his part, Cato is a bright, human-shaped Sun, as if he’s sucked all the light from the arena to him. His hands are brighter than the rest of his body and growing more so with each passing heartbeat. I can clearly see the determination in his brow, the intensity in his eyes, the downright murderous tilt of his wild smile. He’s not running anymore.

He’s fighting. Which means we’re fighting, too. Damn it. I reach behind me and touch Vesper’s shoulder. “Change of plans. Can you turn your luck against the Chariot across this distance?”

“I don’t know. I can try.” Vesper grabs my hand. “Kestrel … are you sure?”

“No.” But I pull away and start forward all the same, drawing my sickles. Their weight on my back has been so normalized, I all but forgot they were present. No longer. They feel like an extension of my hands, toothy blades ready to cut and maim.

I can’t think about the feel of them sinking into the Hermit’s body. I can’t let myself regret her death … or the one to come. I can’t afford to hesitate.

A step and I’m at Cato’s side, feet braced as well as I can manage. I can do this. I don’t have a choice. Cato turns that fierce, mad smile on me. “We fight.”

“We fight.” If my voice quavers, he doesn’t comment on it. There’s no time. The Chariot is upon us once again. The sand that sucks at my feet doesn’t seem to affect him in the slightest, other than rising in a low cloud as his boots churn it up. He aims right for me this time. It takes every bit of courage I have to hold perfectly still until the last moment and then spin away to rake my blades down his side.

I make contact. I should open his torso with deep cuts. The wounds should be enough to slow him down, if not incapacitate him. Instead, my sickles bounce off skin that feels like stone. The impact reverberates through my arms and my shoulder screams in agony as bones grind against things they’re not supposed to touch.

I land on my knees. It hurts. Gods, everything hurts more than I ever thought possible. I look up to find Cato on his knees as well, mirroring my position … mirroring my hopelessness. His hands are so bright, he must have attempted to use his beams on the Chariot.

The man in question is making another, wider loop. His stride is the same confident motion. He’s not hurt at all.

“Fuck. We didn’t even leave a scratch.” Cato drops forward onto his hands. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. We’ve lost.”

The Knight of Wands laughs.

There’s no possible way I can hear Nonnie, not with the crowd of Wands so aggressive it drowns out all individual sounds. And yet, when I look to the table where the Court of Wands sits, their face is twisted into a victorious smile. Because they believe the same thing Cato does—that we’re about to die.

The Chariot isn’t circling back for us. Apparently he’s decided Vesper is the easier target, and he’s aiming directly for them. Vesper, the brave little fool, has their arm outstretched and face contorted in concentration as they try to muster their luck to save themself. But the Chariot doesn’t fall. His knee doesn’t buckle. His ankle doesn’t twist. He grins, clearly realizing what they’re attempting. Seconds. We have seconds before he reaches Vesper.

Use your shadows, Daughter. Take him.

I don’t know what the words mean. I don’t know what to do. On instinct, I shove my hands out and scream, pouring every bit of energy I have into my palms, just the way Mouse taught me. Beams of shadows might not stop him—I’ve never been able to summon them before, so why start now?—but I can’t just kneel here and watch Vesper die.

My palms tingle, the sensation becoming itchy, and then painful. There’s no time or space to figure out what’s happening as shadows spill from my hands. Not a beam, clean and cuttingly cold. What pours from my palms is a torrent that feels almost like liquid.

The shadows cascade onto the sand, creating a space darker than black that swallows all the light around them. Even the light of the Moon. The puddle shifts on the ground, the movement jerky and wrong.

I don’t care. Not as long as it helps. I concentrate on the Chariot bearing down on Vesper. A flash of purple and he stumbles, his foot catching on one of the bodies as Vesper’s luck tries to protect them, but his momentum keeps him moving forward, the fall turning into an even smoother sprint. He’s so bloody fast.

But my shadows are faster.

The pool spins out, thinner and thinner, in a stream that courses over the sand. Two threads remain attached to my palms, tugging my magic free in a dizzying rush. My eyes are so incredibly heavy, my bones weighed down once again. I’m overreaching. I don’t know how to stop. This isn’t a power I had access to before now; if there’s a way to regulate it, to make it more concise, I don’t know how. I only have desperation.

My shadows cut the Chariot off three steps before he reaches Vesper. They surge before him, following my will, and split to create a circle around him. For the first time since sunset, he stumbles to a stop. His chest heaves with exertion and sweat coats his body. Even as I watch, his form shrinks a little; not quite to the size he is during the day, but less than the monstrous, eight-foot-tall creature he became.