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My heart slams against my ribs, my breaths coming short and fast as I scan for an opening, any move that doesn’t end with me bleeding out on the stone floor. My gaze flicks past them, searching the shadows for a trace of Kallias, of Maxim. But beyond the three men before me, there’s nothing.

Please, gods, let that mean they got out in time.

The Eagle chuckles, and my attention snaps back to him, narrowing on the amused tilt to his lips. “Your accomplices”—he draws out the word, and my spine stiffens—“are being escorted to the palace. I’m certain the king will handle them accordingly.”

A chill creeps along my skin. “The king knows?”

“Of course.” He tilts his head as if considering. “He knows everything I tell him, at least.”

“These are his own people, his citizens. What you’re doing to them is unnatural,” I spit, my voice raw and trembling with fury barely held in check. “It defies even the gods.” My voice cracks on the last word, disbelief laced through it.

“That, Sparrow, is the plan. I’ve learned a lot during these past weeks. Even found some…success.”

He crouches next to Deke’s lifeless form, pressing two fingers to his throat. His expression sharpens, his features predatory as a flicker of satisfaction darkens his face. Then he smiles.

“The key to transferring theïkós,” he lectures, “is that the soul must already be preparing to leave the host.” He rests a hand on Deke’s shoulder for a terrible, lingering moment before gesturing to the space behind me. “Put them both on the tables.”

The words don’t make sense at first. My mind scrambles, the chaos in my head too loud. My gaze darts from him to Heron and Lory as they advance.

The air rushes from my lungs as understanding slams into my chest.

“No,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “No. No!”

I lunge at Heron when his hand reaches for me, but Lory is faster. He slides behind me, wrenching my arm backward. My blade clatters to the floor, and the sharp pain blooming in my wrist feels distant compared with the panic overtaking me.

“You can keep fighting,” the Eagle says, “if you’d like for your brother to die. Raven is with him now.”

I stop struggling, swallowing hard against the terror rising in my chest. My eyes dart to Deke’s motionless form as Heron and Lory shove me onto the damp wooden table. Heron’s jaw tightens, but his hands remain steady as he secures the iron cuffs. Lory avoids my gaze entirely. Coward.

I twist my neck, frantic, as they lift Deke onto the slab beside me. His body is limp, his face pale, but I can just make out the shallow rise and fall of his chest. He’s alive. Barely.

“Please,” I gasp, my voice cracking under the weight of desperation. “Please don’t do this.”

“This is a mercy, you’ll realize,” the Eagle says. He takes a knife from Heron without hesitation. My body tenses as the blade presses against the delicate skin of my palm. He carves slowly, methodically, the pain flaring white-hot and ripping a gasp from my throat. But he keeps talking, unfazed. “During our tests, we made an interesting discovery. If the host is dying, the theïkós doesn’t attack the vessel. It wants to live. Simple survival instinct.”

His gaze meets mine briefly as he carves more goiteía marks into the tops of my feet. “Even gods,” he says, “cling to survival when cornered.”

Tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. My resolve wavers as the knife moves over my chest, carving shapes I can’t see but feel reverberating deep inside me. I grit my teeth as he continues to slice, finishing with the same precise cuts across my stomach.

“We’re not so different, you and I. We both grew up on the streets, crushed under the boots of others.” He moves to Deke next, repeating the process. The nymphai’s face twists slightly—a flicker of life still clinging to him. A broken sob claws its way out of my throat. “I know what it’s like to be powerless, to watch the people you care about slip through your fingers because you weren’t strong enough to save them. But I swore I’d never feel that way again. And now, I don’t. Power is the only thing that matters, Sparrow. You’ll see that soon enough.”

The Eagle’s blade moves toward Deke’s stomach.

I laugh bitterly. “Is that what Cirillo told you? Is he the one pulling your strings?”

I’m grasping at straws, trying to delay the inevitable, to buy even a sliver of time. But the words hit their mark. He stiffens, his head tilting as if considering me from a new angle.

“Oh, Sparrow. You have such potential.” He shakes his head and continues carving. “My interest in magic began with goiteía. Did you know there are marks—ancient ones—that can be used to transfer life from one person to another?”

My stomach twists, but I don’t answer.

“Of course you do. Aella must have told you about her mother.” He tsks softly and steps back, wiping his hands with a clean cloth Lory offers. The Eagle watches me with a cruel smile.

And then he says, “I am Lord Cirillo.”

My lips part, but no sound comes. The scathing words I want to spit at him get stuck in my throat as a pale green mist rises from the cuts on Deke’s body, swirling like smoke caught in a restless breeze.

My entire body tenses, panic clawing at my chest as the mist thickens, curling toward me.