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Ezra stumbles back, coughing, and I lurch forward, released from stasis. I rush through the smoke, but a flick of Ezra’s wrist sends me hurtling down the hallway. Another, and Dorian lifts off the floor and slams into the ceiling.

But the moment he touches it, bony appendages burst from his back, and suddenly he’s a spider crawling across the ceiling upside down. He drops on top of Ezra, knocking him to the floor.

Ezra raises a hand, and Dorian flies back again. But he lands on his feet, shoes skidding across the tile before he comes to a stop, none the worse for wear. Ezra snarls a curse and slices a hand through the air, and Dorian’s mask cracks in half.

Dorian reaches up to cover his face with two gloved hands. But just as Ezra grins in triumph and steps forward, Dorian drops his hand and looks up again; the cracked porcelain drops to the floor and shatters, revealing another, identical mask waiting beneath. He launches himself at Ezra again, a dozen hands bursting out of his sides and reaching to grab at him.

Dorian is ever in motion, ever-changing, limited only by our combined imaginations. He is the most beautiful chaos. It feels like I’m finally getting a glimpse of what he should’ve always been, unrestricted by his cell or my childhood home or my own failure of imagination. He’s finally free.

And his chaos is also the perfect distraction. I creep closer along the edge of the hallway, unnoticed as Ezra remains occupied by Dorian’s constant, shifting blitz of attacks. He doesn’t seem to notice that Dorian isn’t really trying to hurt him, knowing it would hurt Ezra too. Nor does he notice me approaching until I’m just a yard away. When Dorian falls back, Ezra finally whirls to face me, one hand raised.

The tension on his face melts to annoyance when he sees me.

“Ah,” he says, dripping condescension. “You.”

“Yes. Me.”

I grab his face with both hands. I feel that same spark I always do whenever I touch Ezra. The two of us are connected, and he is still in there, fighting.

I shut my eyes and reach into his mind. I picture a hand reaching out, and IfeelEzra’s fingers close around mine. But instead of pulling him out of the darkness, I step into it with him.

The last thing I hear is Dorian shouting my name before the world falls away.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“Daisy,” Ezra gasps.

I lift my head as the world slowly comes into focus. I find myself in an all too familiar room. White walls, white tile, a metal table with a radio sitting on top of it…this is Dorian’s cell. But it’s Ezra strapped to the bed in a straitjacket.

I rush over to release him, undoing the straps on his back and pulling it off. “This isn’t real,” I tell him. “It’s all in your mind.” I remember how it felt to be trapped in a mental cage while Godric used my body.

But I broke out. Once I’ve released Ezra, I march over to the door to demonstrate. I raise a hand and reach for my power to crush it like I crushed it in real life—but nothing happens.

I blink, lower my hand, doubt seeping in. “Yourmind,” I repeat, turning to face Ezra. He’s still sitting on the edge of the bed, his face pale and stricken. “You have to be the one to let us out of here.”

“I’m not strong enough to stop him,” Ezra says. “He-he killed those people. I saw it, and I couldn’t do anything… Ican’tdo anything.”

“Don’t say that.” I cross the room to him and bend down to take his trembling hands in mine. Electricity sparks between us. “Do you feel that?” I ask, squeezing his fingers. “We amplify each other. We always have. And I’m here to help you now.”

But he shakes his head, pulling his fingers free. “You shouldn’t have come,” he says. “Just do what you did before. Trap him in here with me.”

“I’m not going to do that to you,” I say. “There has to be another way.”

“There isn’t,” Ezra says. “It’s for the best. Trap him in my head and put me in a cell at the MRF where I can’t get free.”

“What?” I whisper. “Ezra…”

The radio on the table crackles to life. I turn to it, hoping Dorian has found his way to us—but instead the disturbingly cheery tune of “Run, Rabbit, Run!” begins to play.

The shutters on the viewing panel slide open, and Godric peers through from the observation room, grinning and horrible.

“One cage for two psychics,” he says through the intercom, voice crackling from a speaker on the wall. “How practical.”

I glower at him. “You’re trapped in here too.”

He shrugs. “I already did what I came here to do. Now I get to have some fun.” He bends down and flips a switch on the control panel in front of him. The cell shudders around us, and then the walls start to shrink inward.

I swallow my panic. “Ezra.” I squeeze his hands again. “You need to get us out of here.”