She turns and gives me a blank look.

“It is not him we need,” she says. “It is you.”

Vidhan comes to life in this moment of reprieve. He makes a desperate lunge at her. But Rodolfo steps forward. With callous skill, he wheels, spins his staff through the air and brings it down hard across Vidhan’s temple.

Vidhan drops to his knees.

He turns to me, stunned.

Blood pumps down the side of his face.

And the light in his eyes snuffs out.

46

The metal grate is cold and bites into my cheek.

I don’t mind. It could slice me to the bone, for all I care. My fingertips trace a cut on my temple and come away sticky with blood. I deserve it. I choke back a sob. Vidhan Blue, the Professor, who made me feel like I belonged, like I mattered. Who dreamt of a beach on the far side of the Earth where the sand is yellow and reaches to the moon and back. Vidhan is gone. Dead.

“You cannot escape,” Mara says. I can hear the smirk in her voice. But I refuse to look at her. “Where would you go?” she adds. “It is futile.”

I don’t answer. I feel numb.

“And do not presume you will be able to Fall out of this cell into the next world. No pathways in here. You are trapped.”

I say nothing.

“Calma,” Rodolfo says from the doorway. “Enjoy the ride. You shall be there soon enough.”

I keep myself pressed to the floor. I don’t answer. I listen to his footsteps leave the space, but I can still feel Mara here with me. She hasn’t moved.

“You are upset with me?” she says. “We went too far, killing him?”

I let myself become petrified, hard as wood.

I know how to do that.

“My brother gave him a worthy death,” Mara says. “Something…noble.” Her voice catches at the word and I hear her take a sharp intake of breath, as if she’s composing herself. When she speaks again, it’s with a raised voice. “But I have no need to explain myself to you. What my brother did was self-defence. It was…it was necessary,” she adds emphatically.

A tear. It falls warmly down my cheek to the floor.

I allow it.

Mara lingers at the door, waiting for a response that will never come. “Judge me,” she says. “Do what you must. It will change nothing.”

There is, in her voice, a hitch. A tinge of pity? Regret even?