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He was far from the brother she had last laid eyes on over a century ago. The years had replaced the boyishness of his face with a sternness. His eyes, once wide with wonder, had transformed into thin, sharp slits, revealing the depth of the centuries he had lived. He was a god, fully grown when he left her, but now he was more seasoned in his skin. The same height as her, though somehow, it felt like he towered over her.

His black hair hung over his shoulders. Shorter pieces framed his symmetrical face, barren of the joyous reaction Naia expected would appear at their reunion.

A nagging sensation gnawed in the center of her chest.

Power emanated from every corner of the room, extending like threads woven into Finnian’s presence.

He was not looking at her, but at Ronin instead.

“Finn—”

A shriek blared in the arena.

The jarring sound of chaos assaulted Naia’s ears, causing her to startle.

She stepped to see over the balcony. Through the tenebrous lighting, the mass of bodies in the stands jumbled into a disorderly, turbulent mess of frantic shouting and crying as they shot off in every direction. Almost as if they were trying to leave.

Naia’s pulse surged, her breath quickening, as she rushed to spot whatever danger threatened them.

The two ghouls who had previously fought were no longer in the center of the arena. Scattered throughout the disarray were figures dressed in the same burgundy cloaks, blocking off entrances and exits of the hall.

They were trapping the guests.

Why—

A blood-curdling screech pierced through the atmosphere somewhere below. Then another sound joined the chorus, and another, until a metallic scent invaded the air.

Naia fought through a gag, her head spinning as she turned to face her brother. “Finny, what is happening?”

He angled his chin slightly to acknowledge her, his gaze as frigid as a winter frost. “They are my sacrifices. Call it an annual feast for my ghouls. Isn’t that right, Mr. Kahale?”

His eyes snapped back to Ronin.

“Don’t give her the impression I’m involved in your sick little massacre,” Ronin retorted with the same disdain Finnian had addressed him with.

Naia looked between them, astonished. “Do you two know each other?”

“Smart move, I’ll give you that,” Finnian said in a voice so methodical it made Naia nauseous.

Horrifying cries of mortals and the gruesome tearing of flesh echoed in the hall. Naia pressed the back of her hand to her lips, swallowing the bile climbing up her throat.

“Using my sister to get to me. Your bravery astounds me.” Finnian tilted his head. “It’s not like you to cross Tempest over into my domain.”

Ronin narrowed his eyes. “Be wise with your next move, Finnian.” It wasn’t a threat, but a suggestive piece of advice.

Was Ronin stupid? Talking to a High God that way. Did he not value his own life?

Naia stepped back and put herself between them. “He helped me find my way to you.”

She reached out for her little brother’s hand. He did not fight her as she clung to it. “I made it out, Finny.” Tears dampened her cheeks. “Like you said. Now, I need—I need… help.”

Finnian’s eyes fell on her.

In all the centuries they had known each other, Naia had never once made such a request.

She could see bits and pieces of the brother she’d held dear to her heart. In the crooked tie beneath his dress vest, and the faint scent of licorice beneath the spices of his cologne.

She gave his hand a small squeeze, never more desperate in her life to hear him speak. “Finny?”