A voice she now knew well.
My sweet destroyer. My fated catalyst.The Soulless One hummed, deep and grating.I sense your soul awakening…our connection growing stronger.
“How…” Wren whispered, voice cracking. “How is this possible? How are you in my mind?”
The Soulless One chuckled.
You, my dear, invited me.
“I—” Wren broke off, shaking her head. “I didn’t.”
The Soulless One sighed and the ground beneath Wren’s feet rumbled.
Oh…but you did. With every dip back into your past, with every glimpse of your death, you welcome me in. Can’t you feel it? The prophecy stirs inside you. It waits for your command.
Fury surged through Wren, blotting out the fear that remained. She lifted her chin, gaze boring into the statue’s crystallized eyes. Throughout the years, Wren had often tried to envision what theruthless leader of the Demien Order might look like. A beast with pointed claws and sharpened teeth. A celestial monster beyond comprehension. But the face carved into stone, the face staring back at her, was undeniably human. A boy—perhaps only slightly older than Wren. His face, angular and sharp…handsome, even.
“I don’t care what your stupid prophecy says,” she said, seething. “I won’t destroy Blackwood. I won’t destroy innocent souls.”
Innocent?the Soulless One echoed incredulously.And what of the liar, the thief, the crook? What of the man that wields the book?
Wren shivered as his words fell over her like a sudden gust of wind.
“I despise Silas as much as you do, but destroying Blackwood doesn’t just mean removing Silas from power. It means wiping the slate clean. It means the destruction of all the students who walk those halls.”
The voice rumbled in displeasure.
Their loss will not be in vain. They will meet a swift, merciful end. A cleansing.
Wren ground her teeth together.
“You sound just like him.”
At this, the voice let out a terrible roar. The trees shrank back, shivering. The curious raven let out a shriek, taking off into the sky. But Wren remained rooted to the ground. She wouldn’t quiver beneath his ire.
I am nothing like him.The Soulless One growled.You understand so little, Wren Loughty. The fate that he steals, the fate that he writes. You have yet to see his virus, his sickness, his blight.
A pain blossomed behind Wren’s temples. A piercing ache.
“Enough riddles,” she groaned. “Speak plainly.”
But the Soulless One simply laughed.
In time, my sweet catalyst. In time.
Wren opened her mouth to speak, to retaliate, but no sound came out. She felt a pressure in her throat, a slithering current. And then streams of shadows were drifting out of her open mouth, choking her, snuffing out her breath—
Pain.
It welcomed Wren back to reality, twisting her insides, an unrelenting wave of agony coursing through her body. She gasped awake, blinking away the haze of the dream, only to find Edith’s scowling face staring back at her.
Clarity washed over her not a second later, a memory from the previous night slithering into her mind.
“I think it’s best we resume our sessions now…don’t you?”
Wren wasn’t sure how many times Edith had forced her way into her mind since dragging her back to the tent. She wasn’t even sure how long she’d been here. Had it been only a few minutes? Hours?Days?She had to assume it was morning now, based on the faint light threaded through the gauzy fabric of the tent. Had Equinox already passed? Had she missed her window? She needed to tell August about the security cuff—about her suspicions that Arthur might be able to help—but how the hell would she get out of here?
She had no way of knowing how long it had been. She’d relived her death more times than she could count, though it was clear that something was beginning to change. In the most recent dip into her mind, Wren hadn’t seen her death…she’d been in that forest. She’d seen the statue of the Soulless One…spoken to him.
