Dante Ashwood nodded and kept his hand on her face, stroking her cheek like she was his favorite thing.

“Of course we will,” he said. “Together, we will change everything. But first, we must talk about your family.”

Zekia stared at the dirt on the edges of her dress.

The walls of her mind were closing in again and if she didn’t concentrate hard enough, then she knew she’d forget what she had just seen. She knew she’d forget everything that mattered.

Zekia was so tired of forgetting.

She was tired of her mind being such a lonely place.

She smiled up at Dante Ashwood and, in the perilous corners of her mind—where she kept the memories of Saxony and Amja and her father, where she kept the hearts of her Kin and the fragile pieces of her childhood she couldn’t quite let go—Zekia called out to Wesley.

Please, she said. Please don’t leave me here again.

17

KARAM

Karam fell onto the sand.

It only hurt for a moment—less than a moment—and it was not the kind of pain that mattered. It was like banging her knee on a table, or stepping on something sharp.

Quick, dull, and then gone.

When the bullet went through her chest, Karam didn’t feel much at all. Just the sand, wet on her face.

Still, her only thought was this: I’m going to die. I think I’m really going to die. And she had the idea that she should say something, her final words, but she couldn’t think of anything to say and when she tried to move her jaw to speak, all that came was breath.

“If magic won’t kill you, then maybe this will,” the Crafter said, stepping closer to her.

Karam tried to move to kick his legs out from under him, or charge at him, or do something, but her body felt so heavy. The world felt heavy and the more Karam tried to keep her eyes open, the more everything blurred.

She wiggled her toes, to check that she could still do that at least. Then she thought about praying to the Indescribable God, but all she wanted to do was curse it.

She hadn’t done everything she’d wanted to yet, had she?

Could she hold on if the spirits tried to take her?

This wasn’t her time. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.

And yet.

And yet.

“Long live the Kingpin,” the Crafter said.

He raised the gun again.

Karam waited for the warm light to reach her eyes and for the spirits to cross over into this world to ferry her back into theirs.

They didn’t come.

They didn’t need to.