She tore her eyes away, and only then did she see the figure standing in the boat just before the tunnel, waiting for her. He didn’t move or wave to her but only stood, waiting for what he knew was about to come.

Dorothy shifted the dagger beneath the folds of her cloak, swallowing. He might know what she came here to do, but she had no intention of making it any harder than it already had to be. She pulled her boat alongside his and stared into the darkness until her eyes adjusted and Ash’s face began to take shape.

Lips and nose and mouth. Long eyelashes. Gold eyes.

“You came.” Her throat constricted around the words.

“Dorothy,” Ash said, and reached for her.

She allowed him to pull her close to him, arms wrapping around her narrow shoulders, and then his lips found hers and they were kissing and everything else fell away.

Oh, how she wished she could stay in this moment.

But the dagger was still there, in her hand. Between them, always.

She pulled back and saw, immediately, how the light seemed to dim from his face. He studied her.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” he said.

Dorothy, raising the dagger, said, “Of course it—”

Dorothy jolted awake, her skin burning, sweat coating her forehead and palms. Darkness swirled around her, and for long moments she couldn’t remember where she was.

Then, shapes began to take form: tall buildings and trees and sky. She was on the Fairmont roof. She must’ve fallen asleep.

She closed her eyes, gathering herself. Her hands were trembling. She could still feel the give of Ash’s skin and muscle beneath her hands, Roman’s dagger sinking into his body with frightening ease, the damp warmth of his blood coating her fingers.

What was that?

It had felt like a memory of some sort. She knew that it was possible to remember things that hadn’t happened yet, but she thought that only happened inside of an anil. So, what was this? A dream? A nightmare?

A premonition?

Whatever it had been, it seemed real. Like something she’d lived through before.

Dorothy closed her eyes, shaking the remnants of the dream from her head. When she opened them again, she saw that the sky above was tinged with pink. Dawn was approaching. She felt a crick in her neck and stretched, cringing. Perhaps the roof had not been the wisest place to spend the evening. Every muscle in her body was tight, every one of her limbs stiff and creaky.

The sounds of movement and voices drew her attention to some commotion down below. She eased over to the edge of the roof, her boots sending bits of debris tumbling over the side, and peered down.

Cirkus Freaks had filled the docks. Their black cloaks made them look like a swarm of insects, an infestation. Dorothy frowned down at them.