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“Someone will return at dusk,” she says impatiently, pressing a cold hand against my back and pushing me inside.

“But—”

“Oh,relax, darling. As our esteemed guest, you have nothing to fear from anyone inside our home.” She hesitates at the threshold before reluctantly adding, “That said, this castle is very old, and it has many bad memories. It would be best not to wander.”

I whirl to face her, dismayed. Before I can argue, however, she closes the door, and the smallclickof the lock echoes in the bone-deep quiet of the room. I seize the sconce from the wall, lifting the brass to better see my new cell. As with the ship, the room sprawls before me without end. Entirely too large. Too empty. Toodark. The door itself sits at the highest point of the room; wide stairs crafted of the same black marble sweep immediately downward, disappearing into the gloom.

I take a deep breath.

If I’m to remain here indefinitely, I cannot fear my own room.

Right.

When I step forward, however, the air seems to shift—seems to sharpen, seems towake—and suddenly, the room doesn’t feel empty at all. The hair on my neck lifts with awareness. I thrust my candle outward, searching for this new presence, but the shadows swallow the golden light whole. My free hand tightens on the banister, leaving a palm print in the dust there.

“Hello?” I ask softly. “Is anyone there?”

The silence deepens in response.

I glance at the marble beneath my feet. Like the banister, thick dust coats its surface, undisturbed except for my own footprints. Clearly, no one has entered this place in many,manyyears, and I have indeed lost my mind.Breathe, I tell myself sternly.You are not in a casket. You are not in the tunnels.

Still, as I force one foot in front of the other—down, down, down into the shadows—I cannot help but shudder. Never before have I felt such an ambience in a room, like the walls themselves are watching me. Like the floor itselfbreathes. My fingers tingle around the sconce, and I exhale a shaky laugh.

It sounds only semi-hysterical.

I refuse to succumb now, however—not after surviving an abduction and nearly drowning, not after discovering a clandestine isle ruled by creatures who want to kill me. Unfortunately, my chest seems to disagree. It tightens painfully until I can scarcely breathe, but I close my eyes and breathe anyway.

A little dust hurts no one, and this room—it will not hurt me either. I simply need to introduce myself, perhaps coax it to like me, to divulge its secrets. “My name is Célie Tremblay,” I whisper, too fraught—tooexhausted—to feel ridiculous for speaking to anempty room. My eyes sting. My head aches. I cannot remember the last time I slept or ate, and my knee still throbs from striking Michal. “I don’t normally like the dark, but I’m willing to make an exception for you.” My eyes flutter open, and I take a deep breath, studying the shapes around me. “That said, if I could find a candle or two, it would make this friendship much easier.”

Matching screens rise on either side of the staircase, concealing a small dressing area to my left and a wash area to my right. I trail my hand across the paper-thin silk of one screen. It stretches across wooden panes, black as the rest of the room, with a pattern of deep blue violets and golden geese.Pretty.

“Our gracious hosts tell me I’ll be staying here indefinitely.” With a trembling finger, I trace a goose who flies with its mate, or perhaps with its mother or sister. Pippa and I used to stand at our window and watch flocks of them fly south every winter. The memory sends an unexpected pang of longing through me. “I stood at the bottom of the sea last year, yet I’ve never felt so far from home before,” I whisper to the room. Then, softer still— “Do you think birds ever feel lonely?”

The room doesn’t answer, of course.

Giving myself a mental shake, I continue my search for candles.

A fresh cloud of dust engulfs me as I pluck the sheets of a lavish bed, coughing and nearly extinguishing my candle. I lift it higher, illuminating a full wall of bookshelves cloaked in cobwebs, two squashy armchairs near the fireplace, and a spiral staircase in the corner. The floor of a mezzanine hangs overhead.

My eyes widen.

Windows.

Three of them, enormous and shuttered tight. If I can openthem, I won’t need candles; outside, dawn has surely broken. Thunder continues to rumble around me, yes, but the sun is stilllight, even shrouded by storm clouds. Moving quickly, I cross the room and test the spiral staircase once, twice, before giving it my full weight. Though the metal groans, it doesn’t give, and I race up the tight steps until I pitch forward onto the mezzanine, slightly dizzy. “Thank you,” I tell the room.

Then I run my hand down the shutters in search of a latch.

Only worn wood meets my touch. With a frown, I try again—feeling inside the seam, along the bottom edge, lifting my candle to search above my head—but no telltale gleam of metal flashes. No hooks. No locks. No battens. I check the window to the right next, then the left, but the shutters on all three remain resolute. Impenetrable.

My frown deepens as I lean the sconce against the wall at my feet.

Using both hands this time, I pry at the seam of the middle window. It refuses to budge. Behind me, the air seems to stir in anticipation. It presses closer, near palpable, until I canfeelit on my neck, until a lock of my hair actuallymoves. The ache in my head continues to build. I throw myself at the shutters now, clawing at them until a sliver of wood slides under my nail and draws blood.

“Ow!” Jerking my hand away, I stumble sideways, and my foot sends the sconce toppling. My eyes widen in panic. “No—” Though I lunge for the candle, it skitters from its holder, rolling across the mezzanine and pitching over the edge to the floor below. The flame winks out abruptly.

The room plunges into total darkness.

“Oh God.” I freeze, still half crouched, as familiar panic claws up my throat.This can’t be happening. Oh God oh God oh God—