The faces of the figures are changing and with a sickening drop of my stomach, I realize that many of them are the faces of the men and women from Mana’s Hearth. Changing faces like kaleidoscopes. Is this what Mia meant? She still hates so many people there, all these years later. She never told us why she left the Hearth, and it was never spoken of while we were growing up in the redwood grove. We’d thought it rude to ask.

I’ve seen the darkness that threatened to overwhelm Mia, as she tried to escape Zeal only for its tendrils to delve deep into her again. Now Verve has her in its grasp, and it’s worse. Will she wake up, angry and enraged, still thirsting for blood?

Clutching the facsimile of my twin, I can’t help but fear that maybe I missed the darkness in her, too. Or in myself, because aren’t we the same?

Mia comes back to herself, just a little. “You should thank your sister.”

“Why?”

“She’s protecting you. Or trying to.”

“I don’t need protecting.” Even though it’s a dream, my body reacts as it would in the real world. My ears feel like I’m going through a tunnel at high speed, and my vision darkens to a little point. I am filled with more rage than I’ve ever felt. I want to hurt Mia with that same, shocking intensity I felt before. My sister came to her, confided in her, and Mia ratted her out to someone. If it’s the Ratel, then my cover is blown before it’s even begun. If it’s not the Ratel, then we have someone else to worry about. Perhaps it was Vuk, and that’s why my sister killed him. To keep him silent.

I know nothing.

Because of this broken woman, my sister might die. Maybe she killed, but would she have been put in that situation if Mia had been stronger?

There’s still no proof of my sister’s innocence or guilt, I have to remind myself. The forensics report was only one way it could have happened. She might have had to defend herself. I still cling to the hope that there was someone else in that room. Somehow. But if she killed to protect me … how would I ever be able to accept that? Especially if I can’t save her?

My false sister is dead. The blood flows until she’s enveloped in the black, oily muck. The demons with the faces of the people we grew up with open their mouths impossibly wide, the coals in their throats glowing as they devour her. Our parents are among them. I see their twisted faces slurping up the muck in euphoric delight.