“How many of them were there?” Chill asks.

“I counted four.”

“Only one team on his home turf? My money’s on Jack.”

The thought of Jack fighting four Guards steals my breath. “What if he’s dead, Chill?”

A dark laugh rumbles from his cell. “A better question is, what if he’s not?”

My mind spins over that possibility. I hadn’t stopped to consider that Jack might be strong enough or quick enough to escape the Guards on his own. If he did manage to make it out of there alive, where would he go?

“Oh no,” I whisper, gripping the bars. “Jack can’t come looking for us. Not here.”

Chill doesn’t answer. We both know exactly what Jack will do. Doug’s laid a perfect trap. And we’re the bait.

Silence falls over the cells. The only sound is the whoosh of the torches down the hall. I feel adrift in time. This far below ground, I have no sense of day or night, no idea how many days or weeks have passed since the Guards dragged me through the ley lines. Jack could have already come. Doug never answered me when I asked where Jack was.

“How long have we been in stasis?”

“No idea,” Chill says. “I just woke up a few hours ago. The stasis sickness isn’t so bad. Not nearly as bad as Jack used to go through. And I was fine when I got pulled into the ley lines—a little tired, maybe, but I wasn’t hurt. I don’t think I was out very long.”

I was injured, but definitely alive, when I felt the ley lines tow me under. Maybe Chill’s right, and we weren’t asleep very long. Maybe there’s still time to reach Amber and Julio and stop Jack from coming.

We both stiffen at the sound of boots marching in the tunnels. Two Guards pause at the entrance to the holding area, and a tall shadow stretches toward my cell. A pair of shiny black dress shoes stops in front of me. My eyes climb past them, up the carefully pressed pleat of a pair of slacks and the lapels of a crisp suit jacket. The torchlight flickering in the tunnels behind him casts strange shadows over a hard jaw and the sharp cheekbones above it. I scramble back from the bars at the sight of the black patch over his eye.

Michael’s dead. I watched his ashes blow away into the wind. This . . . this is impossible.

The face moves closer to the bars, revealing a crown of blond hair. Doug’s left eye twinkles with his smirk. It gleams like a diamond. Like Gaia’s eyes.

“What have you done?” I stand, coming closer to the bars, searching his hands for Lyon’s scythe. He holds up a finger when I open my mouth to speak.