I watch her long enough to calm my racing heart, my gaze skimming over every part of her I can see from the silvery lines of her hard-won scars to the silvery half of her hair on the pillow. She’s so fucking beautiful I can barely breathe. And I almost lost her.
My fingertips trail over the smooth, soft skin of her cheek, spotting the tracks her tears left. She lost her mother today, and while I won’t mourn the loss of Lilith Sorrengail, I can’t stand the pain Violet’s suffering.
And yet I’m about to be the biggest cause of it.
“I love you,” I whisper, just because I can, and then I climb from the bed as quietly as possible and dress quickly in the moonlight.
Silently, I leave the room, then make my way down the hall and to the staircase, surrounding myself in the warmth of my shadows as I descend floor by floor to the tunnels of Basgiath.
I don’t bother reaching for Sgaeyl. She’s been eerily silent since the battle ended.
The doors to the bridge open at my command, as do the ones on the far side when I reach them, keeping myself wrapped in darkness as I pass the overflowing clinic where we’d spent hours waiting for Sawyer to come out of surgery earlier.
I sidestep two drunken infantry cadets and keep walking down the tunnel, only turning when I reach the guarded staircase that leads to my target. The guard cracks a yawn, and I slip by unnoticed thanks to the increase in my signet… or whatever this is.
The last time I walked these stairs, I’d just murdered everyone who stood between me and Violet. It’s ironic that’s the cell I end up standing in front of now, peering through the barred window at Jack-fucking-Barlowe.
“You look good,” the second-year says, sitting up on the reconstructed bunk and smiling. “You here to dose me? Pretty sure I’m not due until tomorrow morning.”
“What’s the cure?” I fold my arms across my chest.
“For the serum?” He scoffs. “The antidote.”
“You know what I fucking mean.” Shadows scurry in from the edges of the walls in his cell. “Tell me what the cure is, and I won’t send for the Rybestad Chest that will hold you in the air until you mummify.”
He stands slowly, cracking his neck before he moves to the center of the room, where the chair they’d tortured Violet in had been bolted. “Cures are for diseases. What we have is power, and that, dear Riorson, isn’t curable. It’s enviable.”
“Bullshit. There’s a way to get rid of this,” I seethe.
His smile grows even wider. “Oh no. There’s no cure. You can never give back what’s taken—you’ll only hunger for more.”
“I’d rather die than become one of you.” Fear flavors the words because I feel it, the power beneath the college, the craving to sate the need for it.
“And yet, you just did.” Jack laughs, and the sound curdles my blood. “All this time, you’ve been convincing everyone you’re the hero, and now you’ll be the villain…especially in her story. Welcome to our fucked-up family. Guess we’re brothers now.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to my husband, Jason, for being the best inspiration an author could ever have for the perfect book boyfriend and for your endless support in what can only be described as years of utter chaos. Thank you for holding my hand when the world went wonky, getting me to every doctor’s appointment, and managing the overwhelming calendar that comes with having four sons and a wife with Ehlers-Danlos. Thank you to my six children, who are quite simply my everything. To my sister, Kate, who never complained when we were holed up in a London hotel room with edits instead of sightseeing: love you, mean it. To my parents, who are always there when I need them. To my best friend, Emily Byer, for always hunting me down when I disappear into the writing cave for months.
Thank you to my team at Red Tower. Thank you to my editor Liz Pelletier, for giving me the chance to write my favorite genre. To Stacy Abrams for what shall be called the July all-nighter. You are an absolute goddess. Hannah, Lydia, Rae, Heather, Curtis, Molly, Jessica, Toni, Nicole, Veronica, and everyone at Entangled and Macmillan for answering endless streams of emails and for bringing this book to the marketplace. To Julia Kniep and Becky West for all the incredible notes and support. To Bree Archer for this phenomenal cover and Elizabeth and Amy for the exquisite art. To Meredith Johnson for being the GOAT. Thank you to my phenomenal agent, Louise Fury, for always standing at my back.
Thank you to my business manager, KP, for holding my sanity in your hands and never dropping it. Thank you to my wifeys, our unholy trinity, Gina Maxwell and Cindi Madsen—I’d be lost without you. To Kyla, who made this book possible. To Shelby and Cassie for keeping my ducks in a row and always being my number one hype girls. To every blogger and reader who has taken a chance on me over the years, I can’t thank you enough. To my reader group, The Flygirls, for bringing me joy every day.
Lastly, because you’re my beginning and end, thank you again to my Jason. There’s a little bit of you in every hero I write.