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And she isn’t the thing that crawled from the ground anymore.

She isn’t the first Bride. She isn’t part of some ancient fucking ritual.

She’s a woman who has been trapped here for two hundred and thirty-five years.

“Please,” she whispers again. “Don’t leave me here.”

Something inside me breaks.

“I won’t.”

Her fingers tighten against my cheeks. “Promise me.”

The word stops me.

Promise.

Ezra made a promise—a bargain.

And three men lost two hundred and thirty-five years because desperation turned words into something permanent.

Mercy sees the hesitation on my face.

For a second, hurt flickers through hers.

Then understanding replaces it.

She slowly releases me.

I take her hands instead. I want her to understand exactly what I’m saying. Exactly what I’m giving.

Not a promise made because I’m terrified.

Not a bargain.

A choice.

“I choose to get you out.”

The reaction is immediate.

Something beneath the barn screams.

Not a person. Not even anything that sounds remotely human.

The sound tears through the floorboards and rattles my teeth as the red mark around my wrist erupts with heat.

Mercy’s eyes drop to it.

Her lips part. “Oh.”

I look down. “What?”

The red circle is changing.

Symbols appear beneath my skin, forming one after another around my wrist.

“What the fuck is happening?”