“Why won’t you fight me?” he demanded. “You’re the enemy. You should fight me.”

I couldn’t even process him calling me the enemy. “I won’t fight you because I love you, you freaking idiot.” My fingers wrapped around the handle of the dagger as his features settled into the look he always gave me when I did something he couldn’t understand, which had been often. It tore at my heart.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Zayne tilted his head to the side again. “Sorry for—”

I reared off the dirt and grass, swiping my arm in a high arc. The sharp edge of the blade caught him under the chin. I kept the blow quick and shallow, just enough to stun him.

Zayne stumbled back, his beautiful face contorting in fury. He clasped his throat, letting out a roar that sent chills to my very soul. Springing to my feet, I didn’t hesitate. I took off as if the very devil was after me.

I ran and ran, blindly cutting through traffic and nearly mowing down countless people as my sneakers pounded off pavement. How I didn’t get flattened by a car was beyond me. Every part of my body hurt, but I didn’t slow down. I didn’t even know where I was going—

Follow me.

My feet stumbled as the voice that was so not mine echoed around me. Breathing heavy, I slowed. Harsh yellow streetlights cast ominous shadows along the sidewalks. Faces and bodies were nothing more than shapeless blurs as horns honked from the street and people shouted.

Follow me, Trueborn.

Either I was losing my mind, which in my humble, nonbiased opinion would be completely understandable at this point, or I was actually hearing a voice in my head.

But didn’t hearing voices in your head also mean you were losing your mind?

Follow me, child of Michael. It is your only hope to restore the one who Fell for you.

A sudden image of what had looked like a star plummeting to Earth formed. Zayne. That had been Zayne.

Fallen.

He said he was Fallen.

I knew what that meant, but it couldn’t be.

Follow me.

The voice...it sounded like it bled power. It was no voice I could imagine. I swallowed dryly, my gaze darting around erratically and seeing nothing. Zayne had come back from the dead—he’d come back different in a very Pet Sematary way, and with wings, but he’d come back. That was him, and he was alive, so I could very well be hearing a real voice in my head.

Anything was possible at this point.

But if the voice was real, how in the world was I supposed to follow something I couldn’t see?

No sooner had that thought finished, I heard, Trust your grace. It knows where to go. You’re already halfway to where you need to be.