I lean forward, reluctant to step into the unlit hallway, as if the dark might bite me. For a beat all is silent and I wonder if I only imagined the sound. Then a gasping cough breaks the quiet and my adrenaline spikes.

“November!” a strangled voice calls, and everything in me sinks. I recognize that voice.

“Ash?!” I shout, and my previous hesitation disappears; I sprint full-speed into the dark.

My boots click rhythmically against the stone and my breathing accelerates with my pace. I run with my hand along the wall to keep my footing as I chase Ash’s distressed voice.

Ahead of me on the left I can just make out a strip of light—the sliver of space under a closed door—and the choking sounds get louder as I near it. I grasp at the door latch in the dark, throwing my weight against the heavy wood. The hinges whine as it opens and I burst into the room, only to stop again so fast that I almost lose my balance.

My chest heaves as I fight to regain control over my runaway heartbeat. The room is enormous, with stone walls and a high arched ceiling. It’s oddly devoid of furniture—except for the far end, where there are a platform and a large lavish chair that resembles a throne. The walls are hung with fancy portraits and ornate tapestries. But what’s stopped me in my tracks isn’t the architecture or the decor. It’s the dead bodies.

My eyes sweep across the expansive floor and my hand flies to my mouth to keep from crying out. Most are people I’ve never seen, a sea of unknown faces, their features contorted in pain in their last moments. But then I spot him at the far end of the room: Ash, clawing at his throat as his mouth foams. Lying next to him is Layla, and beside her are Ines, Aarya, and Matteo. They’re splayed out, unmoving, their backs arched, bloody marks scratched across their throats. And standing in front of them all with his back to me is a tall man with silver hair. He starts to laugh, long and loud.

“Nonono…,” I sputter in one fast breath, my pulse battering my temples as I frantically weave around bodies, panic fumbling my footing.

Layla’s delicate hand is still clutching at her throat as if she’s fighting to get air, but her eyes are closed and she’s perfectly still. A cry escapes my lips and I trip over someone’s arm, my hands skidding on the cold stone floor. I immediately right myself. Ash’s desperate eyes meet mine and he chokes again, reaching out for me.

The man with the silver hair looks down at Ash as he struggles.

“What did you do to them?” I shriek, my words fighting their way past the lump in my throat.