Mmmm. Do you feel my hands tearing at your soul, sweet catalyst? Ripping you apart? Do you feel the torment of your memories? Of your pain? Let me take that away from you, Wren. Let me back in.
Wren let out a hoarse scream as something slithered inside her. She wanted to tear her skin off. To rip herself open and yank that festering darkness out. She wanted—needed—the suffering to end.
Panic burned behind August’s slate-gray eyes. For a moment, Wren thought she’d managed to convince him, seeing a steady look of determination washing over his face, but then August was tossing the ring into the air, straight toward Irene, who caught it with a strangled gasp of surprise.
“Go.” August looked among the four of them. “Find a way to destroy it.”
The others hesitated. Their eyes snagged on Wren.
She mustered a strained smile, nodding feebly in encouragement.
“It’s okay,” she muttered, voice thin and thready. “Go.”
And then the four of them were turning away, bolting out of the office and into the chaos of the battle.
I will find them. I will tear them apart.
Wren shuddered. She wouldn’t give the Soulless One the satisfaction of answering his call. Instead, she kept her eyes fixed on August. She committed his face to memory—etching every detail into the farthest reaches of her soul. In the place nobody could ever find it. Not even the Soulless One.
“I don’t have…a lot of time.”
August gripped her hands tightly in his, bringing them up to his lips, planting soft kisses on her knuckles.
“Truthfully…” August winced, and it was then that Wren realized how haggard he looked. Deep plum-colored bruises stained the skin beneath his eyes. Black veins trailed down his face and disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt. “Neither do I.”
Wren tilted her head in confusion, but then understanding struck her hard in the chest.
The shadows…they were consuming him. He’d used too much shadow magic.
He’d damned himself.
Wren could only manage one word.
“Why?”
August smiled, but an unmistakable sadness lingered behind his eyes.
“Why do you think?”
Wren bit back a sob. Her insides were alight with an unbearable agony, a searing fire consuming every inch of her soul, yetstill…she smiled. She raised her hand, fighting the pressure threatening to consume her, and placed her palm upon August’s cheek. He shut his eyes, leaning into her touch.
In that moment, Wren was no longer scared. She no longer feared the pointed claws of oblivion. She no longer feared the darkness that awaited her if the shadows finally swallowed them both whole.
Because if this was how her soul fractured, if this was how it all came to an end—staring up at August,at the boy she loved—then so be it.
48
MASIKA
“WHERE THE HELL ARE WE GOING?!” Olivier bellowed as they sprinted out of Elysium Hall and into the chaos of night. In the distance, hundreds of Demiens, Ascended and Resistance fighters swarmed across the grounds, all of them caught in a bloody battle. Screams split the night, a pungent cloud of magic stifling the air. Billowing shadow creatures soared over their heads, some of them cradling limp bodies in their talons.
“The base,” Masika muttered through labored breaths. “It’s the only place that could potentially have something to destroy the ring with. Not to mention it’s probably the safest place we could be right now.”
“It’ll take us days to get there!” Olivier shot back, ducking when a swirling vortex of shadows burst from somewhere to their left. He gripped Emilio roughly by the collar, tugging him closer. “We’re never going to make it.”
“Well, do you have a better suggestion?” Irene snapped, tossing her hands in frustration.
Olivier hesitated, gnawing the inside of his cheek. His eyes flitted north—out toward the heart of the battle. “Fine.” He shook his head, conceding. “Go. But…I’m staying here.”
