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Her older sister, by ten months.

Twenty-seven wasn’t just her age. It was Anya’s as well.

As Thea’s senses came back to her, she gaped at the piece of jade in her sister’s hands. For years she had worn that stone around her neck like a curse. For her whole life she’d flung herself into danger, believing that she wouldn’t die.

And she wouldn’t. Not by fate’s hand. Not today.

For the stone wasn’t hers.

It was Anya’s.

The reality of that realisation hit her harder than any blow.

‘Anya,’ she croaked, reaching for her sister. But Anya’s attention snagged on something – someone – else, on the battlefield below.

Fastening the fate stone around her neck, Anya’s eyes were trained on the frenzy beneath them, tracking a hooded man scurrying across the ruins. He clutched a sword to his chest but did not use it, did not assist any of their warriors in need.

Fury blazed over Anya’s expression as she too realised what Thea had mere seconds ago. Whoever it was was fleeing the fortress, making for the shattered gates —

A feral smile broke across Anya’s scarred face as darkness unfurled from her palms and her membranous wings flared open at her back.

With the iruseed flowing through Thea, her wound was forgotten. She scrambled to her feet, just as Anya dived from the parapet.

She was a vision of onyx glory, of formidable power. And at her command, a great gust of wind swept through the fortress, tangling in the wraiths’ shadows, lightning sparking off the stones.

Anya’s wings beat furiously, and she landed before the figure below, stopping him in his tracks.

Thea and Wilder darted from the parapet, leaping over the rubble and racing to reach Anya’s side. For this was no ordinary deserter.

Anya stared at him, blood dripping from her scythe. ‘Do you recognise me, Guild Master?’

Thea gaped. Though she’d listened to the reports of Osiris’ part in the fall of Thezmarr, it was another thing to watch it unfold before her, another thing entirely to see the man who had run the guild fleeing from its burning shell.

Osiris’ eyes narrowed as he took in Anya’s shaved head and scar. ‘Should I?’

Anya gave a dark laugh. ‘I suppose all little girls look the same to you when they’re disposable… Just as you are now.’

Osiris scrambled backward, only to hit the wall of Wilder’s chest, blocking him in to face his fate.

Amusement laced with malice lined Anya’s features.

‘I have waited for this for a long time, Guild Master. Do not think it will be over quickly.’

With a flick of her wrist, her scythe slashed across Osiris’ cheek, leaving a line of blood in its wake. He cried out, his hand flying to the cut.

‘Save your strength,’ Anya said. ‘There will be many more…’

Thea watched on in horror as her sister painted her vengeance upon the former Guild Master. A slice down his face that mirrored her own scar. Then another.

Osiris screamed, falling to his knees, holding his hands out. ‘Please. I beg for mercy!’

‘What mercy did you show me all those years ago? What mercy did you show the poor souls that you and Artos turned into monsters?’ Anya gave a broken laugh. ‘Mercy? You’ll find none here —’

But just as Anya raised her scythe again, a reaper’s lash of power struck her from behind, hard and fast as a blade.

Blood sprayed. Lightning shot from her fingertips, searing her attacker in a blaze of brilliant white light, but she staggered.

Not believing her eyes, Thea lurched forward, panic clawing at her insides.