“Advance!” Silver roared, her swords grasped in both hands as she vaulted over the shields.

As one, twenty Hunters landed alongside her in the defensive ring and pressed toward their quarry, weapons ready. Twelve watched in amazement as Victory and Silver attacked together, darting back and forth fluidly until the Grim was so confused it didn’t know which way to turn. It screamed again and the ogre beneath Twelve howled in response.

Then, in the midst of the precise, practiced moves, the unthinkable happened—Victory stumbled, knocking into Silver. Twelve’s stomach churned with horror. Silver struggled to regain her balance. The Grim sensed her disadvantage, turning toward her before any of the others could react. Its hair coiled into ropes and darted at the Elder, catching her around the wrist and dragging her toward its monstrous, outstretched hands.

Twelve couldn’t move, unable to take her eyes off what was unfolding. On her shoulder, Widge began to shake. Fighting hard, Silver struck again and again at the Grim, but still it dragged her closer.

“Cut that hair!” screamed Victory, scrambling to repair her mistake. The Hunters obeyed, desperately hacking at the Grim. It was no good. Its hands cupped Silver’s face in a strangely tender gesture. The color began to leech out of her immediately. Even her armor faded as she turned to ice before her Hunters’ horrified eyes. As Silver diminished, the Grim pulsed with life, its outline momentarily clearer in the weak morning light.

Twelve wasn’t sure if the screaming she could hear was hers or Victory’s. Time seemed to slow and the sounds of battle became muffled. Twelve’s breathing felt wrong somehow. It was as though an iron band was tightening around her chest every time she exhaled. Her knees wobbled and her vision blurred. Widge pressed himself against her cheek, his tail twitching with distress.

It couldn’t be true, it just couldn’t. Silver wasn’t dead—that was impossible.

Not impossible, never impossible, her thoughts swirled bitterly. This is what happens to the people you love. Surely you don’t need another lesson in that.

Dark spots danced across Twelve’s vision and then she was falling through a hail of arrows. As the ground rushed up to meet her, everything slipped into darkness.

Chapter

Eight

Everything hurt. Twelve’s mouth was full of blood, her nose was full of ogre-stink and no matter how many times she blinked, her vision wouldn’t clear.

“Widge,” she croaked as soon as she could organize her tongue. “Where are you?”

Something moved on her chest and a little nose nuzzled her cheek. Relief flooded her. She moved her hand to stroke him tentatively, amazed that nothing felt broken.

“Twelve, can you hear me?” A familiar voice spoke from beside her.

Twelve blinked furiously, her sight dark and shifting.