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T he attendants came to dress me for my funeral.

A brush dragged through my hair. Fingers laced the strands, weaving intricately .

My limbs hung like they were filled with iron, my body ragdoll-limp as they tugged the gown over my head.

They couldn’t force the Lumen off me. That was the catch. I had to give it up myself.

I stared at my own reflection in the mirror. The black gown swallowed me whole, cascading over my frame like liquid shadow. The gems on the skirt glittered like fallen stars, the fabric of the bodice stitched like night sky before a storm.

A woman, one of the attendants, smiled at me in the reflection. “You look beautiful,” she said, curling one of the strands that framed my face with her finger.

“Is this normal? I always thought we would be in uniform for the Rift.”

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation. “Everyone will be dressed like this.”

She was lying. I could feel it like a splinter beneath the skin.

The king wanted to enjoy the show, to have his pawn wear a pretty dress as she Fell.

The brush dragged through my hair once more, smoothing every last imperfection.

My hands drifted to my neck, absently touching the pendant.

I couldn’t part with it now, not yet. Even though it reminded me of my mother, the person who had betrayed me worst of all.

Was this all life was, now? Truths unstacking like Russian nesting dolls, the core of each one more rotted than the last. I didn’t even have tears left, just a dull ache that seemed to fill the hollows.

I smoothed my silk skirts, frowning. I felt like death already, and I hadn’t even taken the Rift.

The sky sagged over Evermore, thick with storm clouds that curled like waiting hands as the guards ushered me into the chapel.

Etherlight flickered against the stained glass, staining the floors in fractured hues of blue and gold.

Rain thrummed against the windows like tapping fingers, like the skies were impatient for our sentencing.

Archdaemon sentinels flanked every column, beady-eyed and ready to strike.

The Lower Sixth lined along the long aisle like statues, so nervous they were frozen.

It was strange seeing them all out of uniform, dressed in robes of pale white, hair pinned to bare their marks just like we’d been taught.

They had spent their entire lives preparing for this, for the moment they would take the Rift to see if they would Ascend.

One step closer to the After, Elsewhere, or death.

But it was all a lie.

The Upper Sixth waited on benches near the front, impatient. Mirelle Sommers tapped her foot, the echo of it the only sound. Marcus wrung his hands again and again. Oliver just looked empty, his head bowed toward the floor.

Verrine stood at the dais beneath the Crucible, dressed in robes of gold, her expression poised as she tapped away at her slate.

I looked past her, stifling my hatred and scanning the chapel with a rising panic.

Where were they? Ruby and Dorian. I needed to see them. I needed to know they were safe.

I spotted him first. Dorian was on the end of a pew near the front, his face still mottled with cuts and bruises. There was no smirk on his lips, no trace of his usual arrogance or the confidence that once made him untouchable. The robe hung limply from his shoulders as if it, too, had given up.

He turned, and his violet eyes locked onto mine.

Something deep and twisting lurched in my chest. I had seen the mindless shadows that stalked the alleyways of Elsewhere.

I had seen what happened to those who had been hollowed out, turned into nothing more than puppets of the darkness.

I could not let that happen to him. I didn’t want to let it happen to anyone, but it would if I made the wrong choice.

My fingers smoothed over the fabric of my gown, shaking as I joined the back of the line of Lower Sixth students.

My breath came fast and shallow as I wracked my brain.

I was the only one in this room that they could not force to Fall.

So long as I wore the necklace, the Rift could not take me, but that didn’t mean I was free.

A set of shoulders in front of me heaved, sobbing quietly. Lilibeth. I hadn’t noticed her there, her form so shrunken. I remembered her score, how close to zero it had been. I reached out a hand, resting it lightly on her shoulder. She jumped, wiping her nose as she blinked up at me.

“Aren’t you scared?” She managed, her chest still rising and falling. I shook my head. I wasn’t, not really. I just felt angry, and beneath that…empty.

“Lilibeth,” I said under my breath. “If there’s a moment, even one, I need you to run. Understand?”

“What?” She sniveled.

The organ's deep, shuddering groan reverberated through the cathedral, crawling through the vaulted ceilings, pressing against my bones. It was starting.

I watched as the Crucible trembled above the dais, its once-glowing glass dimming, dark veins threading through its surface like rot creeping beneath a wound.

Where there had once been light, there was now only shadow.

Slithering tendrils of blackness curled through the hourglasses, choking the luminescent sands within.

The balance no longer existed. There was no path to the After anymore, only Elsewhere, yawning like an abyss beneath them.

A low murmur swept through the ranks of Lower Sixth students, robes whispering against the stone as they shifted.

“Welcome.” The High King of Elsewhere stepped onto the dais, frost twining beneath his feet.

“What a wonderful Sunday we find ourselves joined together on. Today, each and every one of you will face the Rift.” He gestured to the raised goblet behind him.

“Drink from the chalice and the severence of soul from body begins. Within the cup is pure ether, strong enough to kill. There you greet your innermost self, your shadow. Those strong enough to face the darkness and claw themselves out deserve their place at Evermore.”

“Indeed.” Verrine nodded, stepping forward. “I’m sure many of you are familiar with the rules. Lower Sixth, you must not consume more than a sip to begin the process. Upper Sixth, you must drain the chalice entirely.”

Lilibeth had stopped crying. She had gone as still as death. I watched as Verrine called the first Lower Sixth girl in line to the platform. Her hands clung to the cup, trembling as she drank. A heartbeat later, she dropped to the floor.

The High King looked away, Verrine at her slate. The Crucible swirled, bloated by the darkness within. No one moved, even to breathe.

“Thirteen seconds,” Verrine called .

I stared at the empty spot where she had collapsed. She was a girl I didn’t even know, just a name in passing. But she was gone so quickly, and no one had even screamed.

Professor Esmerelda climbed onto the dais, skirts tangling, pressing a palm to the girl’s neck. “ Gone,” she rasped, face contorted with worry. Verrine nodded once. A guard removed the body, carrying it somewhere behind the Crucible out of sight.

Just like that. Thirteen seconds. That was all it took for the Rift to decide if you were worthy.

“I can smell it from here!” Esmerelda called out, distraught. “The severing tonic is stronger than anything we’ve used before. It needs diluting. Must have been made too quickly. None of the Lower Sixth stand a chance!”

“Enough!” The High King tapped his staff and Esmerelda’s mouth rammed shut. A guard refilled the chalice from a massive silver pitcher, and next went an Upper Sixth I only loosely recognized. His body slammed to the floor. Hard.

They gave graduates a minute. He did not wake.

A tear slid down my cheek as my lip started to tremble. I blinked, eyes blurred, forcing myself to look at the platform as the body was hauled away. Then, I saw them.

The cards sat on a raised altar above the chalice, gleaming like a guest of honor. I felt it, the whisper of magic that pulsed from their surface, the weight of the power within them, bound by blood. My heart stuttered, skipping a beat.

The Arcana Deck. A ripple passed through me, standing the hairs on my arms on edge. It was dangerous to hope, now. But if the cards were here, this wasn’t over. Not yet.

I tugged on the Thread, just slightly. I didn’t expect it to respond. I caught Dante’s eyeline from across the room. “ Why are the cards here?”

“Siphoning,” the Thread whispered, weaving through my mind.

I was surprised Dante responded. “The energy drawn from the students when they die feeds into the deck, keeping the Archangels trapped. If you Fall, the daughter of an Archangel, it might be the sacrifice we need to ensure they never open again.”

A chasm opened in my gut. The king had more to gain from this ceremony than a few more Daemons for his legion. Every Fall, every death, was an effort to strengthen the binding. But he had made a mistake bringing them here. I was sure of it.

Focus, Arabella. There had to be something I could do. I tried to remember what Godwin had said. He seemed to think my blood could free them. He’d told me I just needed to die.

A thought struck so hard it jolted my spine.

Blood of a Fallen Angel… that was how they bound the deck, just before I was called to Evermore.

It clicked. My mother was that Fallen Angel, and she died the very night she’d given me the necklace.

The car accident that had claimed my parents’ life wasn’t fate, it was a bloodletting. A sacrifice.

Verrine said I was late. My attendance at Evermore was overdue one year. Maybe my mother had refused to give me up, refused to honor her bargain with the High King and trade me to Evermore. So he’d taken her instead, and then taken her life to seal away the Archangels.

But it hadn’t worked. Her blood hadn’t been enough.

The High King had faith that I was the answer. That if I Fell, I could shift the power balance of light and dark enough that the cards would remain sealed. The Archangels would be too weak to escape, and the After would crumble. But if my hunch was correct, he had missed something.

The edges of the deck were still frayed. It was hard to catch in the dim light, but threads of ether were unwinding like seams splitting like a rope that had been stretched too tight. The Arcana were unraveling all on their own.

The Archangels were still fighting from within, and maybe they wouldn’t need much help at all, now. After all, Godwin had been found with the cards soaked in blood. They’d assumed it was his, but it was mine. The blood of an opposite. The blood the cards needed to set them free.

I just had to die.

A cry rang out, muffled, the sound carving through me.

My head snapped, and I saw her. They dragged Ruby forward from behind the Crucible.

She looked thin, weak, deep bruises beneath her eyes as they forced her toward the chalice.

Verrine beamed at her, robes glimmering like the rays of a false sun. Overhead, the Crucible dimmed.

“Lilibeth,” I hissed. “Your slate.”

Lilibeth nodded, wiping away tears again as she flashed the screen toward me.

Ruby sat at a flat zero. The two elements that might have vied for her survival, her score and strength, made this a probabilistic impossibility.

She was going to die. Actually going to die, right here on this stage in front of everyone. Just like the two students before her.

A guard pushed her toward the chalice, her hands weaving around it. Her eyes were wide, pleading, and utterly terrified. She didn’t deserve to die like this.

“Wait.” I lurched forward, pushing through the line of Lower Sixth students to the front. “NO?—”

The High King turned his head slowly, silver eyes gleaming like diamonds. “Apt timing, Arabella. If not her next,” he said, voice ice-smooth, “then you.”

The words rattled through the space between us, final, inevitable. My lungs seized, my mind clawing for a plan. Anything, anything —but there was nothing. I had no choice but to take the Rift in her place. I had no choice but to die.

And maybe that was exactly what I needed to do.

“Fine.” I paused. I need a moment, a moment to think. “I know you need me to make the right choice. I will. But let her go. Let anyone who doesn’t want to take the Rift go.”

“I’m not here to barter, Arabella Davenant,” the king said cooly. He lifted a hand. Verrine raised the chalice to Ruby’s lips. The dark liquid inside rippled, viscous, catching the etherlight like oil.

“STOP! I know you need me. I will do this right. I will take the Rift your way.” My voice tore through the chapel, ricocheting against the great stone arches. The flames in the torches guttered, the ether in the Crucible shuddered, and for the first time, something shifted.

The High King turned to me slowly, his mouth curling with expectation. He was pleased. With a flick of his wrist, Verrine pulled the chalice away.

Ruby collapsed, her knees hitting the stone with a sickening crack. Her shoulders trembled, her chest rising and falling in shallow waves. My hands clenched, nails biting into my palms. Every instinct in my body screamed at me to run to her, to drop to my knees beside her.

I couldn’t move, or break character yet. I was still playing the part of obedience. The High King was watching me closely.

My fingers brushed over my throat. The chain still hung there, cool against my skin.

The Lumen. The thing that had defied death, again and again, rested cold against my skin.

My fingers found the clasp. Removing it would kill me, which is exactly what I needed.

No one else would have to die. Not if I did.

If I died, if I removed the necklace and Fell, the sacrifice would work.

The opposite of a Fallen Angel’s blood wasn’t the blood of an Angel.

It was the blood of an innocent, the blood of someone who never sought to tangle themselves in the darkness.

It was clear to me now. It couldn’t be clearer.

I was the opposite of my mother, her foil in every way .

Her blood locked the deck. Mine would unlock it.

I unclasped the necklace and pressed the pendant to my chest one last time. I felt the cold press of it against the palm of my hand as I walked slowly toward the dais. Blood must be spilled to reclaim what was lost. I wasn’t the answer. My death was. The perfect paradox. The perfect sacrifice.

And I was nothing like my mother.