I don’t give Colin the chance to argue before I dive into the crowd. Dodging people has become one of my greatest skills, but I still bump into the occasional person without meaning to. Thankfully none of them trigger any visions, but I slow down as I approach the area Rose indicated just in case.

I find a patch of space and scan the crowd. Masks, masks, and more masks stare back at me.

Drawing a deep breath, I start “accidentally” brushing and bumping into people. I avoid women and children, and anyone who looks too tall or too short to match what I saw of Fin. After eliminating people whose body type differs drastically or who has red or blond hair, I’m down to a decent number, though the two I’ve touched so far were duds.

Stepping up beside a man with a devil’s mask on, I let my hand graze his. Instantly the spot goes cold as I’m swept into a vision.

I’m sitting in a hard wooden chair. The walls are painted a sickly white, and the beep of hospital machines punctuates the background.

My mother’s face is peaceful in sleep. Her gnarled hand is clasped in mine, and I hold it close as the beeping slows, then stops.

I wobble briefly but maintain my balance as my head clears. The sadness lingers, but I push it away.

So the devil is a dud. That leaves a man with a black and forest-green masquerade mask, who I can’t get a good look at, and another with a wolf’s mask that covers even his eyes with thin material. There was a third, but I can’t find him.

I maneuver behind the man with the wolf mask and tense when I brush him with my fingers. Nothing. Except he does turn, giving me a suspicious look.

“Sorry,” I say, stepping around him to find the next man. Someone grabs my arm, sending tendrils of ice racing up my veins. I try to pull away, but the vision gets to me first.

It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen.

The clash of steel. The flash of Saint Knives. Blood, screaming. My body is exhausted and in pain, but I don’t stop fighting. I can’t stop fighting.

Bodies drop around me. The war goes on.

The scene changes, flashing to another vision, another death.

The guard’s body drops to the ground with a thud, and I pull my knife free.

The visions continue in quick succession. There’s a woman with red-painted lips and pointed ears. A selkie halfway through transforming. A boy barely older than Rose.

Image after image flashes, death after death, until one surges to the top, stronger than all the others.