The man groaned, and a low thud sounded in the foyer, prompting me to whirl.

“Erik!” I screeched. “Stop it!”

Someone was about to die for me. If he hadn’t already.

My eyes darted over the pristine furniture, the lavish décor, and, finally, the spotless stained glass of the front door that Erik had once also used to transport me.

Desperate, I lunged toward the door, and grabbing the handle I swung it wide. But instead of a cool autumn breeze, an artic one blasted my heated face.

Twisted dead trees lined the horizon, their skeletal limbs powdered white.

Helpless. I was helpless to do anything to stop what was happening.

My breath fogged and my eyes stung from the cold. Yet, through their blur, I saw a sliver of what the trees, in their fullness, had always hidden from me on my side.

There, in the distance, gleamed the lake. The one Erik had used to convey me here.

That had been in a dream, yes, but didn’t everything here mirror the other side? Hadn’t I heard the piano notes and the ticking clock and now the man’s voice through the walls?

The waters of the lake were, perhaps, a barrier, too. Could the lake do for me what the doors had so far not been able to?

I didn’t have anything else.

I clambered down the stairs, rushing into the screen of falling snow. Then I began to run as hard and fast as I could in the direction of the forest.

Toward the lake.

FIFTY-FIVE

Zedok

I’d grabbed the dagger Wrath kept sheathed in one boot.

After turning to spot me, Rastin had lifted a hand, but I advanced on him anyway, giving him no time to utter even a single syllable before I struck, slicing the palm he’d hoped to stay me with.

A crimson arc slashed the floor, but his shout struck me more as one of surprise than pain. He swung away, his left hand gripping the wrist of the injured right. His back to me, I swiveled the blade in my grip, prepared to drive it through his ribs. Except I did not strike.

Because I could not.

The pain. Debilitating and arresting, the sudden rupturing in my empty chest caused me to stagger. I somehow managed to keep hold of my weapon while my free hand rushed to stifle the wound that had torn itself open again.

Rastin shouted Stephanie’s name as he whirled—charging at me. His outstretched hand, streaming blood, met with my equally bloody sternum—an action that rendered me paralyzed.

He drove me backward, and I went—halting only when I collided with the wall.

It was then that Rastin unleashed the full power of his mind, sending into me his first retaliation.

Emotions, thick as blood themselves, flooded me. Rastin’s.

His anger and the bitter sting of betrayal burned behind his pain. Not physical pain, but something much more potent. Regret.