Page 3

Then, as if in slow motion, the daggers at his hips slide free on their own, handles lifting out of leather with a quiet hiss. The throwing knives strapped to his forearms pull loose from their bindings, rising into the air. Another dagger floats out of his boot to join the rest of them. Before long, there are ten blades total, orbiting him with their points turned outward, burning with the same white-gold light of his swords.

One of the daggers shoots toward Logan, and Logan drops Evie in less than a second. She collapses to the deck, sucking in air in huge, ragged gasps, and Logan throws both hands up, wind exploding from his palms to catch another incoming blade.

The dagger slows until it’s hanging in the air three feet from Logan’s chest, the white-gold glow pulsing brighter as Kieran’s magic pushes against Logan’s wind. They’re in a stand-off, pushing their magic hard against each other, muscles straining as they try to break through.

But no. I will not stand here and watch Kieran try to kill Logan. I don’t even know if it’s possible to kill Logan, but I don’t care, because all that matters is stopping Kieran.

So, I throw my hand out, reach for my magic, and release my lightning.

Silver electricity slams into the dagger suspended between them… and scatters into sparks that fizzle and die against the steel. I try again, harder, but whatever Kieran’s doing to that blade is so strong that not even my lightning can stop it.

Logan’s jaw clenches. His arms shake. His feet slide half an inch backward across the deck, and I’ve never seen Logan strain against anything. Not during the hellhound loops, not when we went against Thaddeus, not when he was training me in the Scorched Circles, not ever.

The dagger pushes through.

Then it drives through Logan’s air magic and buries itself in his chest with a wet thud that stops my heart.

2

JADE

A second dagger breaks free from Kieran’s orbit, and the electricity that rips out of me isn’t the controlled, calculated kind I used ten seconds ago. It’s white-hot, fueled by the image of Logan staggering backward with a blade in his chest and blood spreading through his shirt, and I hurl it at the incoming dagger with everything I have.

The lightning slams into the blade, and the white-gold glow sputters and dies, the blade clattering to the deck and spinning twice before stopping at my feet.

My eyes go straight to Logan. He’s gripping the hilt of Kieran’s dagger, his jaw locked, blood soaking through the center of his shirt and dripping onto the deck in a steady rhythm that makes my stomach twist.

His eyes find mine, and just like that, he pulls the dagger out and tosses the steel aside, like it was an inconvenience instead of a blade that buried itself beneath his skin.

It clatters when it hits the deck, and I’m in front of him before I decide to move. My hands find the wound, bracing for the worst.

But the skin beneath the torn fabric is smooth and whole. It’s covered in blood, but there’s no gash or sign that he was ever injured at all.

“I’m okay.” His thumb traces my knuckles, and the touch sends a pulse of silver sparking between our hands. The color in his face deepens, and his breath catches the way it always does when my electricity hits his system, his eyes going bright and alive. And for one second, we’re not standing on a ship surrounded by people who want to kill each other.

We’re just us.

“You’re bleeding through your shirt,” I say, because apparently that’s the best my brain can do right now.

“It’s already healed.”

Already healed.

Like Kieran’s dagger was nothing. Like steel through muscle and bone is something his body barely registers before fixing itself.

He’s indestructible.

The thought should scare me. Instead, my throat tightens and my eyes burn, because if Kieran’s divine blade couldn’t put Logan down, maybe nothing can. And maybe that means I won’t have to stand on a deck someday and watch him die for real.

My fingers press harder against his chest, tracing the smooth, unbroken skin.

He stands perfectly still, as if he’s waiting to see if I’ll pull away.

I don’t. All I can do is keep touching him as my electricity runs through his veins. His pupils blow wide, his chest rising and falling with breaths that only matter because I’m touching him.

Losing Logan would break me. Not in the dramatic, poetic way. In the real way, the way that means I wouldn’t get back up. The way that means the world would keep spinning, and I’d be standing still in the place where he used to be, and nothing would be able to move me from that spot.

He’s a Revenant. His heart is dead. His eyes are borrowed. His soul hangs from a chain.