The world turned crimson.
A guttural scream tore from my throat, but it was drowned out by the wet, sickening sound of my father’s chest cavity splitting open. The agony was instantaneous and absolute—a white-hot spike driven through the center of my sternum, exactly where his blade had disappeared into his own flesh.
I collapsed to my knees, my hands clawing at my chest. There was no blade in my hand, no steel piercing my skin, yet the front of my dress began to darken with a rapidly spreading stain of blood.
"Lyra!" Ryker’s voice was a frantic roar. He ignored his own exhaustion, lunging toward me as I pitched forward. He caught me before I hit the ash-covered ground, his hands hovering over the wound that shouldn't have existed. "What is this? How is this happening?"
"The... link,"
