Her foot nudged Morwin’s shoulder.

“Eater forgive me,” she muttered under her breath. She crouched. “Do it now. I’ve only got seconds left.”

I could hardly breathe.

“Raughn!”

My shoulders shook. The Haunt dragged its weight forward like it was wading through mud. Visions scuttled over the walls, over the floor. I wanted to run, but there was no strength in my legs. All I could see were those lamp-yellow eyes, steady and unwaveringly fixed on me.

I wove together my lace and grasped the threads of Asan’s binding tightly, just as the last of her power sputtered out. The effect was immediate; I felt my lace draining like water into dry sand.

Asan didn’t bother with further talk. She dropped to a crouch and, with a grunt, flipped Morwin’s body over. The Reverend’s head flopped against her shoulder; her broken neck turning her face to the wall. I saw the knife in Asan’s hand.

“Oh,” I whispered.

“Concentrate.” She pulled back Morwin’s sleeve. For an instant the blade wavered. “Don’t watch me, all right? It’s this or we die.”

I nodded stiffly.

“It’s this or we die,” she repeated, and for all her brusque confidence, I knew that Asan was trying to convince herself. I clamped my jaw shut.

The Haunt pushed forward another step. Closing the distance between us.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her make the cuts. Just like the rite: small, precise, bleeding. But we weren’t in the Martyrium; this was nothing sacred. The ground beneath the Haunt’s feet pulsed like organs, like a great breathing creature.

Asan swallowed the flesh without gagging. She got up. For a second, a terrified, irrational part of my brain believed that she meant to flee and leave me here alone. Instead she dragged Morwin’s body closer to the stairs and out of my immediate line of sight.

“Do not turn around.” I heard a sharp rip; she was slicing open the Reverend’s robes. “Promise me.”

“Yes,” I managed.

How long before my power gave out? How long until Asan could wield hers again? I imagined the Haunt’s talon scything across my throat, the hot spray of blood. My bones shattered, my head tilted. I clutched my lace like a lifeline, and it dwindled within my grasp.

“I won’t let it hurt you, Raughn. Just keep your eyes forward.”

“Okay,” I whispered.

I heard wet sawing. I heard Asan’s breathing turn ragged. My lace stretched like a fraying thread, and half-formed visions danced around me like moths made of shadow. I heard the Commander choke as she tried to swallow. All the while, I stared at the Haunt and it stared back, and we both waited for me to fail.

Then, like someone lifting a crushing weight off my shoulders, Asan resumed her hold on the binding. I sagged, and a sob escaped my mouth.

“No need for that,” she said, with unexpected gentleness. “You did well.”