The hedgewitch stepped up behind her, uncorked a vial, and dumped it over Delilah Foster’s perfectly coiffed hair.

Ms. Foster gasped and spun. “Claire? What did you—” she started, and then she stopped. She didn’t just stop talking—she stopped moving. Stopped blinking. Stopped breathing.

It took Eleanor a moment to realize what had happened, since everything was already gray. Delilah Foster had turned to stone.

“I should have done that before you ever had the chance to come after us,” the hedgewitch growled. Eleanor grinned at her, and she grinned back.

The moment shattered a half second later as an umbral hound slammed into the hedgewitch, taking her down to the ground. Eleanor yelped and lunged to help, but a muck lurched between them. She scrambled back—then dodged under the reaching hands of a January Society member.

The fight had been pretty even before, but now more mucks were streaming out of the trees. The January Society members weren’t armed, but there were a dozen of them, and three had hold of Pip, hauling her backward toward the door as another two charged a shouting Jack, seemingly heedless of his sword.

Eleanor didn’t have time to look for Otto, or for Katie and her book and ink—she ducked and dodged and ran and spun as mucks and men and hounds seemed to come from all directions. The dark was closing in.

Time, already fickle, seemed to seethe and slow around her. She blinked, watching the battle as if it was in slow motion. They were going to lose, she realized, as Jack collapsed to one knee, Mrs. Prosper twisting her hands in a spell to make the roots of the trees wrap around him.

As Wander staggered, fending off the rattlebird, who must have freed himself.

As somewhere, Otto gave a scream that might have been fear or pain.

This was going to be it. Their grand plans, their months of struggling and surviving and beating the odds. It was all going to be for nothing. The People Who Look Away were going to win, and the gates of the Pallid Kingdom would open, and all the Empty would spill out.

A growl sounded behind her. She turned slowly. Rag-a-bone crouched, ready to leap. And Eleanor stood frozen. She couldn’t get away. Even if she got away from Rag-a-bone, the January Society would get her. Or Mrs. Prosper, or Mr. January, or the graveyard dog. Maybe they’d already gotten the others. She couldn’t see them anymore. Not Otto or Pip or the hedgewitch or Katie.

She couldn’t see them, she realized, but she could feel them. She was connected to each and every one of her friends, and there were their threads, tugging at her. They were still here. They were still alive. And she wasn’t Empty. She wasn’t alone.