“I fled from Death,” she says, the words as strong as the in-betweener’s oath. Look and listen. See and know. “Why don’t you come for me?”

No.

“I fled from Death,” I say, and the Emissary’s broken face swivels back to me. Its fingers tighten around my life, and I shiver, suddenly cold.

“I stole from Death,” Lara says, as if it’s a contest, a competition. This time, the Emissary lets go. Its taloned hand draws out of my chest, and I slump, dizzy and breathless, to the bridge.

It starts toward Lara. “We will take you.”

And despite everything, Lara Chowdhury holds her ground. She doesn’t take a single step back. She is the bravest girl I know. And I can’t let her do this.

“I stole from Death!” I echo, and the Emissary stops halfway between us.

“We know,” it says. “We will take you both.”

“But who’s first?” I ask.

“It should be me,” demands Lara.

“No,” I say. “You came for me, right?”

“You didn’t even notice me.”

The Emissary looks between us, unsure who to take.

Which is why it doesn’t see Jacob.

Not until it’s too late.

Doesn’t notice how close it’s standing to the side of the rail-less bridge, until the pale gray streak of my best friend throws himself around its skeletal waist, carrying the darkness with him toward the edge.

And over.

“Jacob!” I shout, diving forward as he vanishes over the side. I get there in time to see the Emissary fall, down, down, down into the bottomless dark. And Jacob, scrambling to hold on to the lip of the bridge, and slipping.

I thrust the purple strap of my broken camera over the edge, feel the sudden snag of weight, like a fish on a line, and look down to see Jacob clutching at it.

“I’ve got you,” I say through gritted teeth. But he’s not weightless here, and the force of him drags me forward toward the edge and the bottomless mist below.

But just as I start to slip, Lara reaches me, wraps her arms around my waist, and together, we pull Jacob up out of the dark. We all sprawl, breathless, on the polished black stone.

I crawl to the edge and look down, searching the mist.

There is no sign of the Emissary.

No sound, either, just the silence of the empty dark. And my own pulse, like a warning in my ears, telling me I’ve been here far too long. Telling me to get off this bridge, and out of the Veil, and back where I belong—in the land of the living.

I get to my feet, and turn to see my friends.

Lara is trying to smooth her shirt, her hands shaking. She looks more disheveled than I’ve ever seen her. But otherwise, she looks like herself.