Wren dropped to her knees beside Lowry and with her good arm she rummaged through her medical bag for the antidote, one of the last vials of it she’d prepared. She pushed up his sleeve and plunged the needle into his arm. The look he gave her as the serum emptied into his veins was baleful.

“Why?”

“Because killing you solves nothing.”

“Is this the part where you forgive me?” he wheezed bitterly. “Where I repent?”

“No.” She could see the fire fading from him, the exhaustion beginning to take over. His heart steadily slowed as sleep struggled to claim him. “I will never forgive you. Not for as long as I live. But I won’t kill you, either. This ends with us.”

Then—a pain worse than any she’d ever known. When the spots cleared from her vision, she saw Hal’s knife buried to its hilt in her stomach.

He’d stabbed her. In numb disbelief, she touched the wound, and her fingers came away slick.

Lowry grabbed her medical bag and threw it. It skidded across the dock and teetered on the brink, just above the hungry suck and lap of the waves. With a panicked, animal sound, Wren scrambled for it, but Lowry’s hand locked around her shin.

He dragged her back. The knife twisted in her gut, and the fragments of her broken arm ground together. Her every nerve burst into flame, blinding her with white light. She would black out from the pain if she so much as moved. The salt and blood coating her tongue threatened to gag her.

She couldn’t do anything. Her magic was spent. She was going to die here. But at least Hal and Una were safe. Vesria and Danu would know peace.

She lay nearly forehead to forehead with Lowry. He looked wicked and triumphant as streaks of rain glimmered on his pale skin like tear tracks. “After all your efforts, all your struggles, how does it feel to fail?”

Wren struggled to form words. Her body was useless, broken. And it was so, so cold. Through chattering teeth, she growled, “I only feel sorry for you.”

“How precious. Thinking of others, even as you die.”

“I saved my country. I saved my friends. You dream of progress, but what have you really accomplished? In five years, no one will even remember your name.”

Something flashed in his eyes—both anguish and longing.

Over his shoulder, a dark figure approached.

Hal.

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. His eyes, solid black and threaded with silver fola, were as vicious as the ocean. He crouched beside them and turned Lowry onto his back. Rain beat onto Lowry’s upturned face, and horrified recognition parted his lips.

Their eyes locked.