“What the fuck?” Malachi says beside me.
I can’t do anything except stare at the carnage I’ve created. The supernatural massacre that happened because I pushed too hard, because I tore through the Veil. After Bash’s experiment, I’m even stronger than I thought possible—and that terrifies me.
The spirits are still there, still standing among the destruction, but now they’re all smiling absently. And every single one of them is looking directly at me, as if waiting for their next command. As if they’re not even real people back from the dead but possessed spirits.
Did I do this?
I shake my head frantically, not wanting to know the answer to whatever horrific question is forming in my mind, when suddenly the black smoke evaporates like it was never there, the overhead lights flicker back to life with a harsh electrical buzz, and the double doors across the room burst open with a thunderous crash. Fresh air and voices pour in from the hallway beyond.
I can see the carnage much more clearly now, and the sight makes my stomach lurch violently. I quickly scan the room, trying to distinguish between who’s left alive and who’s lying motionless on the blood-streaked floor.
“I don’t see my father or Irina anywhere,” Malachi says beside me, scanning the crowd of survivors who are now streaming toward the open exits like water through a broken dam.
Dead bodies are scattered throughout the elegant ballroom—some still in their perfect eveningwear, others twisted at unnatural angles. Living people crouch beside the fallen, some checking for pulses, others weeping over loved ones who will never move again.
Suddenly, the woman’s ghost nearest the stage—the one with the hole where her heart should be—charges straight at me with supernatural speed.
I take a reflexive step backward, a sharp yelp escaping my throat as she slams into my body and disappears completely. The impact feels like an ice-cold dagger piercing straight through my chest, stealing my breath and sending shockwaves of pain through every nerve.
I start stumbling backward, shaking my head in desperate denial. “No, no, no, no,” I whisper frantically, but there’s no stopping what’s happening.
All the spirits begin moving at once.
Every single ghost in the ballroom turns toward me and charges with terrifying purpose. They come from every direction—some running, some gliding, some moving so fast they’re blurs of translucent energy. The first few slam into me simultaneously, each impact sending waves of supernatural agony through my body.
“Kat!” Malachi calls, but I can’t see him through the relentless onslaught of spirits. They’re hitting me multiple at a time now—five, six, seven ghosts slamming into my body and vanishing in rapid succession.
Each collision sends electric jolts of pain through my nervous system, like being struck by lightning over and over again. My vision starts to blur, and my knees begin to buckle under the assault.
“Viktor Volkov is dead,” a man announces somewhere in the distance, seeming to echo from very far away.
Then everything goes black.
ChapterEighteen
LOG EIGHTEEN – SOMATIC SURGE: DURING STRESS TESTING, HER STRENGTH INCREASES EXPONENTIALLY. WE FEAR THE CEILING FOR THIS POWER DOES NOT EXIST.
The sterile whitewalls and pristine white tile floors of this endless hallway stretch out before me, making my skin crawl with unease.
I keep walking past door after door, each one equipped with small rectangular windows that I’m too afraid to peer through. The glass is frosted, offering only vague shadows of movement beyond, but something about those glimpses fills me with a dread I can’t explain.
When I finally reach the end of the seemingly infinite corridor, a man dressed entirely in white emerges. His clothing blends so perfectly with the surroundings that he’s almost invisible until he moves, pulling open one of the imposing double doors in front of me.
I step inside, and the scene that greets me is both familiar and deeply disturbing. A long, polished table stretches across the center of the bare room, surrounded by occupied chairs. People sit at regular intervals around the table, but I can’t make out anyone’s face. They’re all blurred and distorted, as if I’m looking at them through water or thick glass.
The figure to my right pulls out an empty chair with a soft scraping sound that echoes unnaturally in the silent room. The voice catches me off guard.
“Now, Viridian, please recount for us…”
I gasp awake, shooting upright with my heart hammering against my ribs.
“Hey, I’ve got you,” Malachi says gently from the chair he’s pulled up directly beside the bed.
I look around, disoriented, and realize he’s still wearing his navy suit from the party. I glance down at myself. I’m still in my lavender dress, though it’s wrinkled and slightly torn at the hem. But we’re definitely in a different room than before, somewhere I don’t recognize.
“Where are we? What’s going on?” I ask, my voice hoarse as he leans forward so our knees are touching.
“I had to get you out of there, so I grabbed our things and brought you here. This is a more discreet hotel a few blocks away from that nightmare. It’s safe here,” he explains, scanning my face with concern.
