The big black ship let out a noise that tore through everything—a sound like metal shattering, but also pure fear, raw and echoing. The three Architects—the Circle, the Square, and the Triangle—stood frozen, more like statues than people, as if someone had carved them from ice. Out in the garden, the white bone-trees snapped and splintered. The silver grass didn’t even stay solid; it just turned to smoke, gray and soft, and drifted away.
June stood right in the middle of this mess, squeezing Leo’s hand so hard her knuckles went white. Beside her, Dante was half-trapped in that white bone, gasping for air. Every breath looked like a fight, his chest barely moving, his throat locked up like stone.
Then the man in the apron stepped forward. Honestly, he didn’t look scary at all. He seemed l
