What’s happening to me?Wren thought, biting back a sob. Maybe the Soulless One was right. Maybe their connectionwasgrowing stronger. Wren still had no idea how she was meant to become the catalyst—but maybe this was how it started. Slowly losing control of her mind. A terrifying descent into madness.
“Welcome back.” Edith stepped closer, hands outstretched, but Wren flinched backward, angling her face away from the other girl’s grasp.
“Please.” Wren hated how the word tasted in her mouth, cringing at the pleading strain in her voice. She didn’t want to grovel, to succumb to her desperation, but the torment of seeing her death—of seeing hersister’sdeath—was becoming too much to bear. “Not again. I can’t—I can’t see it again.”
Edith’s eyes remained anchored on her face. “There is no otherway.”
Wren whimpered as Edith stepped closer and pressed her fingertips against Wren’s temples. The shadows slithered closer, wrapping around Wren’s skull, a terrible anguish dripping into her mind.
Wren choked back a sob. “I’m begging you.”
Edith’s lip twitched—a small crack in her mask. But if it was disgust or pity, Wren couldn’t tell.
“Save your breath,” Edith hissed.
The shadows were pulling her under again. Wren could feel her consciousness slipping away, the darkness taking root, tightening its hold on her. Her voice cracked pitifully as she fought to speak.
“Haven’t you ever lost someone?”
Wren’s vision began to warp, fragmenting. Through the haze, she could see the surprise in Edith’s expression, the way her mouth parted, eyes widening slightly. For a brief, fleeting moment, Wrensworeshe saw a flicker of sadness in Edith’s dark eyes. A remnant of humanity.
“I know loss well, Wren Loughty. More than you will ever understand.”
Searing tendrils of fire coursed through Wren’s veins, a never-ending well of pain.
“Edith,” Wren choked out. “Please.”
And then, for what felt like the hundredth time that day, Wren Loughty fell back into time…
26
AUGUST
The screams went on for hours. August had expected them to stop eventually, but they continued to echo through the night and into morning. After a while, the broken sounds seemed to blend in with the encampment’s natural symphony. A few Demiens glanced toward the tent, the briefest hint of concern on their faces, but nobody bothered to stop and investigate. Hell, some even looked amused, snickering in delight as they passed the tent.
August had tried everything to distract himself from the sound of Wren’s cries. He attended the morning battle simulation. He taught another set of history classes. He tried, with every last shred of restraint he had left, to play the part of the ruthless, unfeeling general. But his façade was slipping with every echo of Wren’s hoarse screams. His willpower cracking. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could endure this suffering. How much longer he was capable of hearing her scream and not doing something about it.
Not to mention that their window of opportunity had almost closed. In a few hours, the initial festivities for the Equinox Gathering would begin. If August couldn’t find a way to get Wren out of that damn tent by nightfall…then it would all fall apart. August would be forced to cast the Reaper’s Kiss. And Wren’s destinywould be solidified—she would be bound to become the catalyst of destruction, once and for all.
Their fates carved into stone.
Forced to meet their ruinous ends.
August was standing outside the tent now, hands clasped behind his back, fingernails biting into the flesh of his palms. Guilt gnawed at his bones. Deep down, he knew it wasn’t his fault, that Edith would have tortured Wren with her death even if he hadn’t come. But it still felt wrong to simply stand back and listen—to seemingly donothing.
“How is she?” asked a voice behind him.
When August turned to face the source of the voice—Quinn Woodrow—he swallowed back any lingering guilt, contorting his features into that impenetrable mask he made sure to wear around the encampment. A withering scowl. Gray eyes void of emotion. Nothing but stone-cold indifference. Though, truthfully, if he was honest with himself, that façade was becoming easier and easier to slip back into with every drop of shadow magic he used.
“How do you think?” asked August, voice rough.
Quinn’s eyes lingered on the entrance to the tent. She seemed…torn. Her teeth worried at her bottom lip, fingers drumming against her thighs. It was odd, to see so much palpable emotion written upon a Demien’s face. Even those within Silver Unit did their best to mask their stubborn emotions.
“And there hasn’t—” Quinn cut herself off, shifting from one foot to the other. “She hasn’t…”
“No,” August supplied sternly, understanding Quinn’s unspoken question. “She hasn’t transformed into the catalyst yet.”
At that moment, another scream echoed from within the tent. The sound felt like a thousand rusted nails scraping against August’s skin—a torment beyond anything he had ever endured.When he glanced at Quinn, he was surprised to find the same terror he felt reflected upon her face.
