The tower smelled of damp stone and burnt herbs. Wind wristled through cracks in the walls, making the weak fire in the hearth sputter. Dane lay on the floor, breathing too fast, sweat soaking his shirt. His eyes rolled back as his lips moved in broken whispers.
The shadow inside him had grown worse. It wasn’t just whispers anymore. It crawled through his veins, making them turn black like cracks spreading in glass.
Seraphina knelt by him and set her hand on his forehead. His skin burned hot under her touch. At her side, the mask in her bag shifted, as if it could smell the blood.
“You can’t wait much longer,” Alaric said. The ambiguous figure leaned against the wall, his cloak fading into the dark. His voice was calm but sharp, each word cutting into her. “The longer the chain grips hi
