Page 126 of Into the Dark, We Go

"Take it," I repeated, this time with more defiance. I wasn’t bargaining. I wasn’t begging. I just wanted it to end. I held the book out with trembling hands.

The creature seemed to shrink into the shadows. Frozen above us, the moon cast everything in an eerie, unnatural stillness. The black holes of the deity’s eyes had changed. They weren’t empty anymore. Now, they held a glint, orange and alive, like flames swaying in silence.

"Where’s Lucas? Where’s Amanda? Where are you taking us all?" I demanded.

I moved closer, no longer feeling fear, but an overwhelming sense of purpose. The deity either sensed my resolve or was simply summoning me deeper, for it took a step back, its eyes flickering like embers.

I didn’t care. I followed, agonizing step by agonizing step.

But the closer I got, the more it seemed to fade.

I could see right through it.

The deity wasn’t real.

It was never there.

I’d been so foolish. This thing, this spirit, was a projection, a twisted creation born from my grief and desperate need to make sense of everything. It was a figment of my broken mind, a reflection of my fear.

I had longed for it. I had called it into existence with my own terror.

But it had to be real, brought to life by faith and sacrifices. Robert had willed it so in exchange for his wants.

But the figure refused to hold its form, dissolving into the night. Only the orange orbs of its eyes were an indication of its presence.

"No, wait!" I pleaded, but the flames had already snuffed out.

I ran without direction, desperate to bring it back, to make it obey, to reverse it all.

The little flames kept drifting farther away, teasing me, disappearing and reappearing again in the distance.

Only when I drew closer did I realize what I was looking at.

I burst into the clearing,uncertain how I’d circled back. Two torches, the ones I had mistaken for the eyes, still burned, but the others lay on the ground, knocked out by either Robert’s men or Mitchell.

My hands were full—the grimoire in one, the knife in the other.

Wait.

I turned the cold steel over in my palm, tracing the killer edge like a fever dream. I thought I’d lost it in the woods when I tripped and fell. Was I hallucinating then, or was I hallucinating now? How long had I been gone? It felt like forever, yet not much had changed.

Robert, another man, and Nick were fighting nearby. Mitch was shouting something at June, who was trapped against a tree by a figure in black, his mask gone, too. She held the shotgun uselessly, having spent all the shells. She was too far away for me to reach. The men who had chased me for the grimoire weregone. I didn’t know if they’d run, gotten lost, or something worse had happened.

"You?" Robert’s eyes widened as he stumbled backward, clearly not expecting to see me. Then he looked up at the moon. It looked ordinary now—no flare of death, no omen in the sky. "You’ve ruined everything, you stupid bitch. If he doesn’t get what he wants, we’re all going to..."

He didn’t clarify who "he" was: one of his clients, or the monster lurking in the shadows.

I raised the knife, but Robert only smirked.

"Get the grimoire!" he barked, noticing the book in my other hand.

Two of his men lunged toward me, and reality snapped back into focus. At the same time, everything seemed to slow down, like time itself had been stretched thin.

"Give it to them!" Nick shouted when he saw me.

I stalled. They’d been after the book all along, and Nick’s order to just hand it over was strange. But I had promised him I wouldn’t question his orders.

With all the force I had, I twisted and hurled the book into the trees so hard that it almost felt like my arm was going with it.