The iron door felt icy against June’s forehead. She pressed in, listening. The fight on the other side rattled the air—thuds, scraping, then a deep, echoing bang. And suddenly, silence. All she could hear was a faint hissing, creeping through the cracks.
“Gas,” Dante whispered, his voice barely holding together. He yanked June and Leo away from the door, shielding them. “Marcus is doing it. He’s knocking them out with gas.”
But June couldn’t move. Her eyes wouldn’t leave the glass jar in her hand. The red letters on its side glowed in the half-light: Daughter of Eleanor.
“June? Hey, what’s going on?” Dante reached for the jar, but June jerked it away, her hands shaking.
“Don’t touch it!” Her words came out sharp and raw. Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Dante froze, staring at her.
