Once upon a time, Mikey McGill had a bucket of coins. He collected them from every Afterlight he brought to his ship—whether they became a part of his crew, or went to the chiming chamber to hang upside down from their ankles. Why did he take their coins? Because everyone and everything he captured was his property. That’s the way he saw things back then. But why did he keep the coins in a bucket, locked safely away? The answer was simple, although he couldn’t admit it to himself.

He kept them because he knew.

He knew what the coins were for, just like every Afterlight knows, without ever knowing that they know. It’s the memory of a dream lost on waking; it’s a name on the tip of your tongue. But if you’re an Afterlight, the truth will someday come to you, and you’ll realize that you’ve always known. Sure, for the longest time, the coin was simply standing on its edge in your mind, just a dull metallic sliver, so very hard to see … but look again—now it’s full and round and shining in your palm. It is your proof of something beyond the Everlost, and your fare to get you there.

Once upon a time, Mikey had a bucket of stolen coins, but now he only had one, and since the moment he admitted to himself what the coin was for—the same moment that Allie made the choice to join him—he was always conscious of that coin in his pocket.

Now it felt heavy, like an entire purse full of coins. All he had to do was pull it out and hold it in his hand. Would it be hot for him now? Would it cause space to part before him, revealing the tunnel to the great beyond, which would suck him out of Everlost, sending him to wherever he was going?

And where was he going?

What if he still hadn’t redeemed himself? What if he’d been a monster for so long, he hadn’t been able to undo all the dastardly deeds of the McGill?

Well, so what if he hadn’t! If that tunnel drew him in, then dropped him into a pit, so be it! He had endured the center of the earth, hadn’t he? He could endure that place as well.

But he’d be lying if said he wasn’t scared.

He didn’t fear anguish—there had been enough of that in his afterlife to last an eternity. He feared … nothingness. He feared being nothing. And yet, that’s exactly how he felt now. Here, among skinjackers, he felt inferior, and that was a feeling he could not abide.