“It Fell through with you,” Malik says. “It happens, sometimes. They can’t see the pathways. But occasionally, they get close and Fall by mistake. That’s how it happened with you. When I came through, you were gone. But that thing was there.”

“And you brought it here? You’re out of your mind.”

Malik looks at me, matter-of-fact. He points at the vial of blood on my neck. “All I’ve got to go on about that Wraith is myth. I’ve never seen anyone wear it. I’ve never seen it work. But I’d like to. Now more than ever. Wouldn’t you?”

He’s got a point. From here on in I don’t see Reapers getting any fewer.

So, if the Wraith works, I need to know. Same as Malik.

“Where is it?” I whisper.

—

In his hand, AM-41 carries what looks like a long cattle prod. The tip surges with a crackling pulse of electric current—bright blue. “One touch’ll stun an elephant,” he’d said, and I believe him. Vidhan, next to AM-41, moves his short-blade from fist to fist, methodically, slowly. Akuji, alongside Vidhan, has both her fighting sticks in hand. Malik, pistol drawn, stares across the space…at the cage gate.

The air is close and putrid. The space is cramped. We’re somewhere inside the dark belly of the plane. I look at Malik. He holds the heavy latch of the gate, poised to release the lock.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says. “I’d understand if you didn’t.”

I glance down at the vial of blood on my neck. Back up at Malik.

“I’m doing it,” I say. I look at the iron-barred cage. The thing inside. Freakishly big. Abominable. Nobody speaks. The atmosphere in the room is thick.

I feel a confusing mix of emotions. Fear. Revulsion.

Even pity.

The Reaper makes a strangled cry and twists its head from side to side. In its gut, I see the garish cut. An ooze of dark blood trailing. Cords of muscle pull tight on its neck. I watch it make a futile attempt to unfurl pink and bony wings, now bound to its body with wire. It moans and stalks the cage, a thing of teeth and sinew. All I feel coming from it is dumb hate. But I keep vacillating, switching between thinking it’s a beast without sentience, to feeling sorry for the brute and wanting to set it free.

“You’re sure about this?” Vidhan says.

“No,” I say. “But I’m doing it anyway.”

Then I do something driven by instinct. I lean down and untie my sword.

“The hell are you doin now?” Vidhan cries.

“I don’t need a weapon for this,” I say, swinging the blade off my hip. I leave it leaning in its scabbard on the curved inner wall of the plane.