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I ’m nothing.

At least, I think that’s what I am. The rest of the world is tangible and solid, but I’m something else. Something bodiless. A phantom on the wind. Not even gravity deems me worthy of holding onto. Instead, I float through the ether disconnected from everything.

That’s not true, a voice whispers. You’re tethered .

I don’t know what that means, but I suppose it doesn’t matter. Strangely, there’s something familiar about being nothing.

That’s because you’ve done this before, the voice speaks again. Once a very long time ago and again just recently.

Having no way of knowing if that’s true, I take the voice’s word for it. Maybe I’ve been here before, but I don’t think the others have. They float around me, all of us being pulled in the same direction. But there are some who don’t float. Instead, the Dark Ones linger in the shadows, tracking our movements.

Don’t go near them, the voice says harshly. They aren’t like you anymore. They shouldn’t be here.

The others grow antsy as we approach the stone archway. We all sense its wrongness. One by one, they are pulled through the veil, disappearing to somewhere unknown. The giant, gaping mouth swallows them whole, leaving nothing behind but the echoes of their screams. Whatever lies on the other side, it isn’t peaceful.

The air between the pillars ripples in anticipation as it pulls me closer. I’ve almost reached it when, all of a sudden, I’m pulled to a halt. The others continue their procession, disappearing into the veil without interruption.

What’s happening to me?

You’re tethered, the voice repeats.

A moment later, something tugs me backward, away from the veil. The world flashes by me in a blur. Before, I was floating slowly, but now I’m racing through the air. Deep within the nothingness, I sense something growing. A connection of some sort. Whatever it is, I think it’s the reason I didn’t pass through.

Is this what happened to me when I floated before?

I wait, but the voice stays silent, offering no further explanations. I suppose I’ll find out soon enough.

Perhaps then, I won’t be nothing anymore.

When my eyes open there’s only darkness.

I blink several times, and the world expands around me, taking the shape of an unfamiliar bedroom. At least, I think it’s unfamiliar. My mind is currently too disoriented to be sure. The bed I’m lying in is soft, yet my back aches. The skin there is sore and itchy. I twist my arm to scratch it, wincing as my nails brush against the tender flesh. Was I in some sort of accident?

It takes me several moments to realize the darkness I’d seen was just the black curtain of the canopy above me. My back protests as I sit up and stretch out my neck. The only source of light comes from the fireplace, it’s flames casting a warm glow on the maroon walls. I roll my eyes when I realize everything about the decor is dark and moody. Whoever lives here must be very dramatic.

As my thoughts begin to clear, a bone-deep panic sets in.

Where am I? Who brought me here? I glance down at myself, sighing with relief when I recognize the clothes I’m wearing as my own. At least no one changed me while I was unconscious.

My relief quickly fades when the sound of a door slamming and raised voices come from the other side of the wall. The room next-door, I realize.

“Are the two of you just going to sit there silently?” a male voice demands, his words immediately followed by the sound of an object crashing against the floor.

“What do you expect, Clyde?” another man responds. “They’ll back him no matter the cost. They always do.”

“Tell him to calm down!” the first one, Clyde, insists. “Tell him he can’t seek revenge.”

Deciding it’s time to move, I push myself off the bed as silently as possible, ignoring the tightness in my back. Moving toward the large dresser, I quietly search for some sort of weapon I can use against whoever’s out there. Frustration fills me as I pull open the drawers, finding nothing but folded men’s clothing.

“Hey!” Clyde shouts as another crash echoes through the room. “You need to figure out what our next move is now that he has the alm ?—”

His words are cut off as something large slams against the shared wall, rattling the door that separates us.

“Stop talking,” a woman orders, her voice sounding familiar. “He doesn’t care about that right now.”

Realizing I’m out of time, I abandon my search and settle for a crystal vase sitting on a side table.

“He doesn’t care?” Clyde asks incredulously. “We have backed him throughout this entire insane scheme! We followed every plan, no matter how impossible. And now when we’re so close to getting what he promised us, he’s going to ruin it all to avenge some woman? Some whor?—”

“She’s dead!” a deep voice growls, one I recognize with every fiber of my being.

As I turn toward the door, my gaze snags on the sight of my reflection in the ornate mirror above the dresser. Time stands still as my eyes flare wide at the sight of my neck.

My bare neck.

Flashes of the battle assault my mind, one after another. Calum’s lifeless eyes. Thorne killing Darby with the almanova and then using it to remove my collar. Baylor?—

I swallow thickly as the image of Baylor driving the sword through my chest rips through me. The memory is so sharp that I feel an echo of that searing pain. The others continue shouting, but I can’t listen through the roaring in my ears. My gaze falls to my chest, but no sign of the wound remains on my skin. A giant hole has been ripped in my tunic where the sword pierced my chest, but other than the blood stains, no trace of the fatal injury remains.

Fatal.

My body trembles as the past reawakens, rearing its ugly head as it collides with the present. I flash back to the day my father drowned me in the lake. As I’d sunk to the bottom, I convinced myself that my brother had jumped in to rescue me. I told myself everyone only believed I had died because my pulse was too faint to hear. My breathing too shallow to see.

But like so many things in my life, it wasn’t true. I’ve always been a skilled liar, able to manipulate almost anyone. Including myself.

Another vision plays in my mind, this one more recent. I’m standing before the veil, trying desperately not to tumble over as Kaldar drags me down with him. I told Thorne that I’d been able to twist over the side at the last second, that I hadn’t gone through the archway, but that was a lie too.

Deep down I’ve always known the truth, but I refused to acknowledge it. Every time those events came up, my brain carefully skirted around them, never letting me look too deeply at why they haunted my dreams relentlessly.

The vase slips from my fingers, shattering against the floor as Thorne’s shouts replay through my mind.

She’s dead.

The fighting on the other side of the wall goes silent at once. A few seconds later, heavy steps pound against the floor, and the bedroom door is thrown open. Several people file in, their expressions filled with varying degrees of shock as they catch sight of me standing beside the dresser. Multiple gasps fill the room, but I ignore them all as I’m caught in the snare of Thorne’s crystalline gaze.

Dark hair falls in a mess across his forehead, as though he’s been running his hands through it in frustration. His lips are parted, his head tilted to the side as he watches me warily, as if he fears I might disappear any second.

“Ivy.”

My name is a prayer on his lips, sending chills through me.

He moves in a blur, appearing before me faster than my eyes can track. His hand reaches toward me, hovering an inch from my cheek, as if he’s scared to close the gap and discover I’m only an illusion. His gaze flits to the bed momentarily before shifting back to me. “How are you…”

“Alive?” Griffen asks, finishing Thorne’s question.

My gaze flickers to the others briefly, finding Griffen and Fia standing by the door with three people I don’t recognize. Two men and one woman.

“How?” Thorne asks, his gloved fingers finally connecting with my skin. He turns my face back toward him, as if he’s unable to have my attention directed at anyone else.

A cold jolt of fear strikes in the center of my being, sending me shuffling back a few steps. Hurt flashes in Thorne’s eyes, there one second and gone the next as his hand falls between us. I want to throw myself into his arms and tell him everything, but a bone-deep fear holds me back.

I’ve been so honest with him. I’ve shared my pain and regrets and shame. I’ve given him every piece of myself. But this is one truth I can’t offer.

I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. When was the last time I had a drink of water?

“I must not have been as badly injured as everyone thought,” I whisper.

I can’t force myself to meet Thorne’s eyes as I utter the lie, but at least my voice sounds steady. Still, my stomach churns.

“You weren’t injured, Ivy,” Fia speaks up, her eyes watching me warily. “You were?—”

“Dead,” Thorne finishes her sentence as he closes the distance between us, coming to stand only a few inches away.

I shake my head as I stare at my feet. “No, it must have only appeared that way. My body just needed time to heal.”

“Thorne.”

My attention flits to one of the new faces, a tall man with dark hair. I recognize his voice as the person who was shouting before. Clyde.

“She was dead and now she’s not,” he continues, his brown eyes brimming with suspicion. “You know as well as I do what that could mean.”

Thorne stiffens, his fists clenching at his sides. I summon all of my bravery and meet his gaze again, finding it locked on me. The blue of his eyes is glacial as suspicion creeps into them, making my forehead wrinkle. I open my mouth to ask him what’s wrong, but Clyde’s insistent tone rings through the room again.

“We need to see if she has the?—”

Thorne silences him with a glare. The man purses his lips, his body practically vibrating with unspent anger as he crosses his arms.

“Lift up your shirt,” Thorne commands, his attention focused on me once more.

My head snaps back. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” There’s not an ounce of warmth in his voice as he speaks. “If you are who Clyde suspects you to be, the evidence on your back will be undeniable.”

My brows shoot up at that statement. Who the fuck do they think I am? And what evidence is he referring to?

“But,” he continues, “if there’s nothing there, then you’re free to go.”

Something ugly twists in my stomach. “Go?”

He nods, his jaw clenched tight.

“But I?—”

“You what?” he demands, his tone full of ice.

I take a step back as I realize the mask he used to wear has slipped back on. He’s cold again. Indifferent. Completely the opposite of the person I’ve come to know over the past few weeks. The person I’ve come to?—

I cut that thought off as I force myself to ignore the painful cracking in my chest. Now isn’t a safe time to acknowledge vulnerable emotions. Not when the lines of friendship are so quickly shifting around me.

He arches a brow. “What will it be, Angel?”

My stomach shifts uneasily. The way he said my nickname just now felt wrong. A taunt instead of an endearment.

“Why are you acting like this?” I whisper, wishing I could take the words back immediately. They give far too much away.

Something flashes behind his eyes, but he doesn’t respond.

“Why are you waiting for her permission?” Clyde demands as he stomps toward me. “We should just hold her down and look for ours?—”

“No one touches her,” Thorne growls.

His menacing stare stops the man in his tracks. The space around him darkens as shadows stretch across the hardwood. The protective reaction has a spark of hope flaring in my chest, but when he turns back to me, his gaze is even more frigid than before.

“If you have any hope of leaving this room again, you will show us your back. Otherwise, we’ll keep you here until you comply.”

Air catches in my throat as the threat falls from his lips. This can’t be the same man who risked his life to free me… What’s changed since he used the sword to remove the collar? What’s made him become so cold toward me? Is this all because of one little lie?

I glance toward to the others, searching for an ally among the crowd. Griffen and Fia keep their faces blank as they stare impassively at the scene before them. For a moment, I think I spot a faint trace of guilt swirling beneath Griffen’s cool exterior, but it’s gone before I can be sure. The reality of my situation sinks in, making my limbs heavy and weak. Deciding it’s better not to drag this out and give them a chance to change their minds about holding me down, I turn around and lift up my tunic, exposing my back.

Gasps echo through the chamber immediately.

“No,” Fia breathes. “It’s not possible.”

“The proof is right there,” Clyde argues.

Turning my back to the ornate mirror, I twist my head around to see what has them so shocked. My eyes go round as I find a giant red tattoo covering most of my back. The crimson lines span from shoulder to shoulder, creating a symmetrical design. It takes my brain longer than it should to realize they are in the shape of wings.

My body jerks as I drop my shirt immediately, as if removing it from my sight will make it disappear. The air in my lungs is too thin as my heart pounds against my chest. I whip my head toward Thorne, recalling the way his wings always fold against his skin to become a tattoo when he no longer needs them.

This can’t be real. I can’t have wings. I’m neither God nor reaper, so it’s not possible.

“You said she was Maebyn’s Heir,” Clyde accuses Thorne.

“Maebyn?” My head snaps around as I turn to gape at him. “Why would you think that? Baylor is her Heir. He’s got her locked away in an underground prison.”

“What?” the new woman exclaims, her gaze narrowing on Thorne. “You didn’t tell us that!”

“By the time I learned that fact, it no longer mattered,” he responds coolly.

Griffen watches the argument anxiously, his hands flexing at his sides. “Thorne, what exactly did Maebyn say when you spoke to her?”

I stumble back, hitting the dresser as shock blasts through me. He spoke to the Goddess?

“She claimed to have no knowledge of a female Heir in the Seventh Isle,” he says, not turning to face his friend as he keeps his eyes glued to mine. “I assumed she was lying to protect her child.”

Child?

I gulp. Something Maebyn said when I was in the tunnels takes on new meaning.

When the other one came to see me, he asked about you. Wanted to know who you came from. But if he were smart, he’d have killed you the moment he laid eyes on you.

At the time, I assumed she was talking about Baylor… But I was wrong.

No, I shake my head as reality bends around me, twisting as it reforms into unfamiliar shapes. None of this is true. It can’t be.

“But she wasn’t lying, was she, Angel?” He prowls closer, his eyes simmering with hidden knowledge. “Because there’s only one way you could have come back to life.”

“I didn’t,” I argue, trying desperately to hold on to my lie as everything else slips away from me. “As I said before, I must have not been?—”

“You were dead ,” he cuts me off, a shudder passing through him. “While I usually find your lying tongue amusing, now is not the time to push me. You were dead and now you’re not, which means your soul must have been tethered to your body, preventing it from being pulled through the veil when you died.”

My eyes go wide. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, that word stirs at a memory.

You’re tethered , a voice spoke to me.

My spine snaps straight as an image of the veil flashes before my eyes, its pale stones taking on a sinister edge. I have no idea where those thoughts came from, but they’re quickly pushed aside when Thorne speaks again.

“There’s only one person who could have done that. Desmond .”

My brow furrows. The former God of Death? My heart races, and my mouth goes dry. “I never met your father.”

The smallest hint of sadness flares behind his eyes, but it fades so quickly I’m sure I imagined it. “Desmond wasn’t my father, Ivy.”

I shake my head, my brain struggling to understand his words. “That doesn’t make sense. If he wasn’t your father, then you wouldn’t be?—”

“The God of Death?” he finishes my sentence, a cruel smile pulling at his lips. “Did you know there are many similarities between a God and a reaper? When the Fates created the Gods, they even based many of their physical features off the reapers they were always jealous of.”

“Yeah, right before they made the reapers obsolete,” Griffen grumbles.

Thorne shrugs. “The Fates have a bad habit of hating everything they didn’t create.”

“More like everything they can’t control.”

“That too.” Thorne chuckles darkly before he continues. “It wasn’t hard to pass myself off as Death’s Heir. The people of the Fifth Isle were desperate for Desmond’s offspring to show up and rule them. When I arrived and called myself his son, they hardly even questioned it.”

“But you said your father was?—”

“My father is a God. Just not Death,” he corrects me as he removes one of his gloves. “But who I came from doesn’t matter right now. Because there’s only one person Desmond would have gone to the trouble of tethering a soul for.”

His body presses in against mine, our gazes locked as he gently brushes his bare fingers against my cheek. When he speaks again, his warm breath tickles my ear.

“His Heir,” Thorne whispers.

My head snaps back, frantically shaking back and forth. Time slows down once more as reality stops shifting and a new world is born. I may be a liar, but Thorne is something so much worse. An impostor.

Everything he’s saying is madness, and yet when he speaks his next words, they hold an undeniable ring of truth.

“You’re the Heir of Death, Ivy. And your ascension has just begun.”