But the last thing I felt was Rook’s limp body slipping from my arms...and the cold marble rising up to meet me.
Chapter Eleven
I WAS FLOATING IN NOTHINGNESS.
I couldn’t see or hear or feel. I was just...aware of being nowhere. A heavy, grey fog pressed from all directions, weighing on my bones, stifling my lungs, making every breath such a chore.
In the fog lurked so many whispers of death. They sang me a lullaby full of history and hardship. Hundreds of echoes stacked on top of each other like sediment in the earth, fused together over time, and sharing their memories in a rich tapestry of lives lived and lost.
I tried to claw my way out of the fog—to return to the land of the living, instead of listening to the dead—but those who’d already passed on brushed against my mind like cobwebs.
I vaguely sensed my exhausted body thrashing weakly in some far-off place as death sang louder—
Listen to our triumphs...
Feed off our misfortune...
Use us, become us, we are free...
They made letting go sound so tempting.
It would be so easy to join them.
No more pain.
No more fighting.
Just let go and sink, become part of the never-ending song...
I tumbled deeper, spinning through a thousand lifetimes.
My fingers twitched as I fought for the surface.
I tried to scream for Lucien, but I could no longer feel my body.
I no longerhada body as the dead kept singing, wrapping their cold fingers around what little warmth I had left.
Tears rolled down my cheeks as R gene carriers—men and women like us who’d been cultivated and harvested—sucked me into the river of their combined memories. I felt the needles in their skin and the pain of their last breaths. I screamed as the meagre power in their veins was stolen, leaving them dried up husks with nothing—
ROOK!
My name cracked through the lullaby like a whip, sending the dead scattering.
I felt my real body twitch somewhere far away, warm hands shaking me.
“Rook. Wake up. Don’t you dare try to die on me again. I forbid it. Open your goddamn eyes!”
I tried to answer.
To reach for him.
But the river of death dragged me deeper, showing me a girl strapped to a table where men in white coats drained her dry.
Lucien’s grip tightened on my shoulders. He shook me again as if he could physically drag me out of the abyss.
Lucien...help.
“That’s it. Come on.” His forehead pressed hard against mine, warm and slick as if he was burning up. Did that mean the fire had returned? That was good. He could protect Ashfall Cliff now. He could keep Whisper and everyone else safe—
