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I can see everything this close up. Almost hidden in the deep brown of his irises, golden specks try to find their way to the surface. An inch-long scar interrupts the perpetual stubble on his jaw, and his mouth quirks in contemplation.

“Were you hoping for my company in the shower room again?”

The cold water pelting my head comes back to me, from last week…and years ago. I stuff it down, way down along with the thoughts of him so close to me.

“Your cock pressing into my side is not company.” I try to shove him away, but pure muscle holds me back.

“Yet you can’t forget about it…because my cock is excellent company.” He releases my arms and cuffs me, first wrists, then ankles, soft touches of his fingertips and the tight pinch of metal. A hint of reluctance slows his step toward the door. “Come, little thief. It’s going to be a long day for you.”

It’s not raining, for once, but as if they sensed my impending doom, dark gray clouds threaten a downpour. I don’t bother reaching for Kelter when we meet in the courtyard, not only because Eli would stop me, but because seeing him brings me back to that day in the classroom and his words that gnaw at my intestines. A chasm forms between us, even as we hold each other’s gaze, infused with fear.

We travel north instead of west to the village. I spend the endless walk thinking of the Kelt I thought I knew—of how much I love him, how I hate when he argues with me, and even more when he doesn’t. How I couldn’t keep my eyes off him when we met, that I thought he was the perfect mix of tall and hazel eyes and barely there freckles, and still do.

I couldn’t get him out of my head that first week, even as I refused to talk to him when he showed up at the coffee shop each day. I laid in bed thinking how those ears of his would make good handles, and—like I do with any halfway decent man I come across—I wondered if he would be the one to sweep me off my lonely feet, if he would rescue me from the mental prison I built myself into, like a sappy fairytale with an unrealistic ending that I hate, but still wish could be mine. But none of that mattersanymore…because he kept coming back, and I never looked at him that way again.

Even after I fell to the ground from a vision in the middle of the street with dozens of judging eyes on me, he stayed. He helped me up, took my hand and walked me out of there. That night was the first time we stayed up cursing at the stars from the rooftop, wishing them the most awful fates. Some broken part of me took the fact that he never tried so much as to kiss me in those early days as its own kind of rejection, but I’d take that any day over no friend at all.

We reach the temporary school, an ancient stone and brick building with lush plants springing up around it and vines snaking along the steep walls. Trees and boulders surround it, and with the roar of a river rushing over rocks in the distance and wind rustling and flirting with the treetops, it would be a calming place…if I didn’t have death looming over me.

Eli and Kaleida are dismissed at the entrance, and three guards follow the Centress, dragging Kelter and me by our cuffs down the stone hallway. I only get a long-faced look from Kelt as the Centress sends him through a stone door. She takes me into the next room, separating us—as if we weren’t far enough apart already.

A man waits inside. He’s even taller than the Centress and wears a gray jumpsuit that pulls taut over his round belly, and a hunch rolls over his back and shoulders, making his neck look squished. Each step slower and heavier than the last, I try to delay whatever’s coming.

“Is it ready?” the Centress asks, surveying the room.

“Yes, Centress Oreyla. We’ll get back the magic she took.”

“I didn’t take anything.”

“Hush, save your energy,” she says to me, her voice thick with false concern. “Go on, Mallace, and don’t forget the serum. I’m not in the mood to hear the screams.”

Chapter

Twelve

The man the Centress called Mallace seizes me with callous hands and throws me onto a low wooden table. My head knocks into the wood, stunning me while he folds cold metal clamps from one side of the table to the other and locks them over my chest, waist and legs. I struggle, taken by pure instinct and terror. His greedy green eyes glare at me as he tightens every clamp, grinding them into my bones. I curse at him. And all the people of Sonnet. And the stars, which remind me of Kelter. Tears surface, then I curse at him too.

Mallace stands over me, his locks of red hair swishing as he pulls a metal crank that lifts the table, jerk after jerk, until I’m almost up to his protruding stomach. My feet hang off the end, as if the contraption was meant to restrain children.

I observe as much of the room as I can—more gray walls without windows. Dim light emanates from the tops of wooden tables pushed against the walls, but instead of lamps, a golden flame winks through gray stones slightly larger than my fist. I search for the blades he’ll use to cut me open, the needles and instruments, but apart from the strange glowing stones, the tables only bear glass vials with colored liquids, cloth rags and a stack of wide, flat rocks.

“Are you ready, Hollow?” His stale breath warms my face.

Fear climbs my spine.

He cackles, the movement raising his shoulders and worsening his humped back. “You shouldn’t have come to Sonnet.” He rubs his thumb over my cheek, full of desire—the desire to bring life to the hate inside him. “Vaile have been through enough from your kind. You think you can take whatever you want.”

“I don’t.”I want to go home.

“You don’t know how good it will feel to push you to the brink. I’ll take back the magic you stole, no matter how many sessions it takes.”

The Centress leans into the wall, letting out a simpering laugh.

“And then we’ll dispose of you.” Mallace’s voice pitches with glee, and he moves to one of the tables along the wall.

Glass clinks. When he turns around, he’s uncorking a vial filled with liquid like melted metal. Taking my chin, he pries my jaw open and sticks his knuckles inside. Salt tingles on my tongue, and the hairs on his fingers tickle the roof of my mouth. He forces the silver liquid down my throat. It’s bitter and spicy, burning all the way down and searing my insides. Heat grows and flares inside my stomach. I try to scream, but—

My mouth won’t obey. The serum took my voice. The burn expands to the rest of my body, fire entering my veins and muscles, my tendons and bones.