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“I don’t know,” I admitted.

He was quiet for a long moment. “Then we figure it out together.”

I looked down at August’s hands, still in mine. Cold and unresponsive.

“How’s your sister?”

Garrick’s jaw tightened. “Alive. In agony. Permanently scarred.” His voice dropped. “Mira says she can keep helping her heal.” He stopped. “She’ll adapt. Addy always does. But it’s not fair.”

“None of it is.”

“No.” He looked at me. “But we chose it anyway. Chose to fight. Chose to try.” His gaze moved to August. “Syra chose too. Marigold doesn’t see it yet, but Syra died doing exactly what she wanted—saving someone who couldn’t save himself.”

Tell August—worth it.

The ghost-thread pulsed in my chest. So faint I could barely feel it, but it was there. August was still in there. Still alive. Still connected to me. I just had to figure out how to reach him.

CHAPTER 16

AUGUST

Cold. Always cold.

The pendant burns but that’s wrong. Ice burns. Fire burns. Mother’s pendant. Father’s weapon. Mine. Not mine. Can’t remember which anymore.

Voices somewhere. Muffled. Coming from outside this place I’m trapped in. Where am I?

Wood under my hands — a chair, solid enough to confirm I exist — but I can't move my fingers to feel it properly.

Someone’s screaming. Far away. Through walls.

Not walls. Just the cold pressing down, pressing in. Making everything distant and grey.

Mother.

No. Not Mother. Mother is dead. Gone. Unraveled by the magic she tried to use. Did I kill her? Did Father? The pendant pulses and my thoughts scatter like birds from a gunshot.

Try again.

There are people in this room. I can feel them moving around me, breathing, talking. One of them is warm.

There’s warmth in my chest. A thread. Golden. Alive. Pulling toward something.

Lily.

The name surfaces like something drowning, gasping and desperate.

But I can’t say it. Can’t make my mouth work. Can’t make anything work except this terrible awareness that I’m here. I’m trapped. I’m screaming, and no one can hear me.

Five women kneeling.

No. Don’t want to remember that.

Gold to ash spreading from my hands. Their threads dissolving. Their screams cutting off one by one. Father’s magic channeling through me.

The pendant tightens. Reminding me. You are a weapon. You are a tool. You are nothing.

I am nothing.