Framed in the doorway was a narrow figure swathed in a great black cloak. Its shape was human, but Twelve could see nothing of its face beneath the deep cowl. Even as it stepped into the blaze of moonstone-light, that place remained featureless, shrouded in darkness. No feet emerged from beneath the cloak and there was no sound of footsteps. Twelve’s heart was thundering, her palms slick with sweat. Fear seemed to snake around the Croke, infecting everyone with unease. Beside her, Seven shuddered so hard her chair shook.

“Good of you to come so fast,” Morgren said. “Your unique talents are very much needed here.”

Despite the warmth in his voice, Twelve saw him step back when the Croke drew near. Victory didn’t bother to hide her disgust, her lip curling as she moved several paces away.

The voice inside the hood was expressionless. “They often are.”

Twelve screwed up her courage and stared into the blackness under the hood, trying to make out the features of whatever lay beneath. The cowl twitched as the Croke turned toward her and Twelve gave a cry of shock. The power of its attention was a physical force, squeezing her, crushing her until she thought her ribs would crack. Black spots danced across her vision.

When the pressure eased, she saw that Morgren and Victory were standing on either side of the creature. The Croke was motionless as the Hunter and the mage talked over each other. For a moment at least, their attention was off the two girls.

“T-T-Twelve,” Seven whispered.

Twelve glanced at the girl next to her. Seven’s eyes were wide and sweat sheened her forehead.

“I-i-it sees the things we know,” Seven murmured. “That’s w-why it’s here.”

“How?” Twelve whispered back, trying not to move her mouth. Dread weighed on her. Somehow this sounded worse than the goblin tortures she was trying so hard not to think of.

“It looks inside your head,” Seven muttered. “I don’t know h-h-how, but it does.”

Twelve pushed down a wave of nausea. The Ygrex had gotten inside her mind, used what it found there to trick her, trap her. Oakhammer had seen inside her heart, found her darkest secrets and revealed them with malicious enjoyment. What would this new creature do?

“Imagine a w-wall or an ocean,” Seven whispered urgently. “Something it can’t pass across. Imagine it with e-e-everything you’ve got.”

Seven yelped as the Croke glanced at her before turning to Twelve. There was no time to do anything, no time to plan. The Croke moved closer and an invisible weight pressed around her, making it harder to breathe. It stopped in front of her and two matchstick-thin arms appeared from the folds of its cloak. Even this close, Twelve could still see nothing beneath the hood. Perhaps it simply didn’t have a face at all, Twelve thought wildly, the urge to scream becoming almost overpowering.