“No, Anton’s right,” Illya said. “The god can go anywhere at any moment. In order to get to it, we have to stay ahead of it.”

“If we don’t go to Endarrion, we’re dooming thousands of lives,” Hector replied. “Maybe hundreds of thousands.”

Guilt rose in Jude’s throat. He looked at Anton, and he could see the same horror in his eyes. His resolve cracking.

“Nazirah is the last city in my vision,” Anton said.

The weight of Anton’s words hung heavily between them. The last city. Their last chance to stop the Age of Darkness.

“Then that’s where we make our stand,” Illya said grimly.

“And how, exactly, are we getting there?” Ephyra asked.

“The Wanderer’s ship is docked right over there,” Illya replied, pointing down the pier. “I’m pretty sure they’ll take us wherever we need to go, under the circumstances.”

“Then let’s go,” Jude said shortly, stalking back up the beach. “We don’t have any time to lose.”

He could feel Anton’s furious, wounded gaze on him, but he didn’t look back.

It was a silent walk down the pier and onto the deck of the Wanderer’s ship. Illya seemed content to take up the task of talking to the captain. Jude was content to let him.

His gaze found Anton at the prow of the ship, facing the distant horizon as they sailed toward it, the sun sinking in the western sky.

Jude approached, recalling another night on another ship, sailing away from Nazirah, when he’d stood beside Anton and touched his hand in the dark. That night felt far away, like another life they’d lived.

I saw the breaking of the world, Anton had said. But I have no idea how to stop it.

It was happening. Anton’s vision unfolding, just as he had seen it that day. But now, he knew how to stop it.

Anton turned to Jude as he approached. He looked exhausted, deep purple bruises beneath red-rimmed eyes, his hair a mess, and his cheeks colored from the harsh wind.

The sight of him, the weary slump of his shoulders and the aching sadness in his eyes, subdued Jude’s anger. In its place he felt only a tender desire to do what he had always done—protect Anton.

“You lied to me,” Anton said, but there was no heat to it.

“You lied to me first,” Jude countered. “And for longer.”

“So what, we’re even?” Anton asked.

Jude gave him a little shrug. “We tried it another way. We did everything we could.”

“I know,” Anton said, voice cracking. “And it wasn’t enough. I can’t save you. I failed at the one thing—the only thing—that matters.”

“I don’t see it like that.”

Anton looked up at him, his eyes dark and wet with unshed tears.