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The humans hadn’t said anything about this—masses of them, all together, like a legion of doom.

The humans hadn’t—but the carved stone now shrouded in darkness had told this story. We’d been stupid to disregard it.

From the periphery of my vision, I caught a flash of moonlight.

It should have been impossible, this deep in the jungle. Maybe I was seeing the end of my own braid. No—I didn’t have a braid anymore.

I slashed again. Where my blades went, nightwalkers fell and didn’t get up.

Thank the Ancestors for these blades. Thank Avalon. I’d even thank Arthur, if it meant my friends would live.

I hadn’t seen Maisri in too long.

No, it was good that I hadn’t seen her or heard her. It meant she was still up that tree. Safe.

Another flash—how could that be?

I kicked the nearest nightwalker hard, giving myself a half-breath of space to whip my head to the side.

It wasn’t the moon—it was a person—and they were waving.

What in the Ancestors-damned hell—

“Veyka!”

Just like that, I was surrounded again. Arran’s yell was swallowed by his shift, his wolf powering through the nightwalkers like they weighed nothing. They rose back up, uninjured, unable to feel pain. But he’d bought me precious seconds.

He shifted. How much energy did that take? How much magic? I’d never asked him. He never seemed to suffer any pain or exhaustion—what was his cost?

I’d think about it later. Arran fought at my side again. The pain in my chest eased.

I felt safer—for myself, and for him.

But that damned flash.

“Look to my left,” I cried harshly between beheading and stabbing, trying and failing to modulate my voice. It wouldn’t have mattered—nightwalkers didn’t appear to think. They only wanted one thing—to kill.

Arran spun to the side, much more efficiently than I had, taking out several nightwalkers as he did. “Who—they are signaling us?”

They continued down on us. Waves and waves of them.

So many humans—all turned to nightwalkers. How had they gotten through the dense forest? It should have been impossible. We should have been safe in the clearing.

But we weren’t. We were stuck without an escape.

Maybe not. “Do we go?”

An assessing glance. A battle commander, surveying the field. “There are too many of them.”

If he said it, then it was true.

I trusted him completely.

“To me!” I screamed. I drew the attention of the nightwalkers, but it didn’t matter. I needed my friends’ attention more.

But fighting across the clearing was painfully slow. They emerged one by one—Cyara with Maisri clinging to her back. Percival, my dagger clutched in his hand.

“Go!” I motioned them all behind me. Arran guarded my back as my eyes scanned.