Finally, inevitably, my gaze strayed to the body crumpled at the bottom of the steps, the sniper who had been firing on us from the attic window. For a split second, I tensed, wondering if I would see a familiar face with short dark hair, glazed blue eyes now staring at nothing. But the body at the foot of the steps was older than Tristan, unfamiliar to me. Through the aching guilt of what I’d just done, I felt a tiny prick of relief. I was truly the enemy of St. George now. I’d fought beside our ancient foes and had struck down my former brothers in arms but, at least for today, I wouldn’t have to face the person I dreaded fighting more than anyone else.

I hoped it would never come to that.

Ember was still standing at the top of the stairs, gazing down at the fallen soldier. Her skin was ashen, her bright hair a shocking contrast to her face. “I killed him,” she whispered, her voice choked and horrified. “He’s really dead. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…”

“Ember.” I took a step toward her, and she flinched away, wide-eyed and trembling. Sympathy curled my stomach. I remembered my first kill, several years back, though it felt like a lifetime ago. It had been a dragon, and though I’d received nothing but praise and admiration from my brothers, I’d never forgotten the way it had stared at me as it lay there in the grass. I remembered its gaze, confused and terrified, before its eyes glazed over and it passed into death. I’d never spoken of it, but the nightmares from that day had haunted me for weeks afterward.

I knew what Ember was feeling right now, and I wished I had the words to comfort her, or the time. Sadly, we had neither. “Come on,” I said, starting toward the stairs. “Hurry, before the authorities arrive. We can’t be caught here.”

She blinked as I brushed past her, then followed me down the steps. “What about the…body?” she asked, stumbling over the word. “The police will find it. There’ll be a murder investigation at the very least. If anyone saw us enter the house, they’ll be looking for us, too.”

“Not likely.”

She frowned at my brusqueness. “How can you know that?”

“Because St. George has ways of covering this up,” I explained as we left the house, easing around the faded walls. “That soldier you killed,” I went on, gesturing back to the empty building, “he’s a ghost. We all are. We have no background, no past, no family except the Order. We don’t register in any system. When we die, we vanish, as if we never existed.”

“Oh,” Ember mused, though she didn’t sound reassured. “That’s…kind of sad. All that fighting, and no one even remembers you when you’re gone.”