I don’t fight them but they drag me anyway, grinning at my grunts of pain. I hear Conall explaining to Elias and my sister about the man I killed last night and Elias bellows that he’ll talk to Ox and get everything straightened out.

The joyous malice in Conall’s voice is unmistakable when he says, “Ox is the one who ordered this.”

Chapter XXVII

Moans drift through the air as Conall drags me to the cable-car platform and hands me a shovel with a sharpened end, the same tool the Soulers carried last night. My stomach twists with foreboding but I keep my face placid.

Ox stands by the rope ladder leading to the shore on the unprotected side of the wall circling the Sanctuary. Unconsecrated stumble at the bottom, reaching up for us, swiping at the bitterly cold air. Their knuckles—those who still have any—look red and raw, their faces scraped by ice.

The river’s a riot of slush with frozen water cracking and shifting around the edges. I can just see the shadow of the Recruiter’s body in the shallows, his skin already distorted and swollen.

A few boats stuffed with refugees from the Dark City float beyond range of the Recruiter crossbows. They no longer shout for help or beg to be let ashore; now they just watch us with desperate eyes. It’s impossible to tell how long it will be before the Unconsecrated swell from the Dark City and fill the river until they overwhelm the Sanctuary as well.

Elias races onto the platform, his steps reverberating across the old wood. “What’s going on?” he shouts, his face purple with rage. “You can’t do this!”

Ox turns to him, a blank expression on his face. He points at the decapitated Recruiter below. “She killed one of my men and there will be consequences.”

Elias stops, breath coming out in fast pants that cloud the air in front of his face in the cold morning. His lips are blue. “What? Annah couldn’t kill anyone!”

Everyone stares at me. There’s no use lying—it’s clear they know the truth. I raise my chin defiantly. “He was attacking me,” I spit at Ox. “I was defending myself.”

My confession is enough for Ox and he pushes me toward the ladder, but I turn on him. “It’s not my fault you can’t control your men. He practically ripped my hair out—he deserved it.”

Ox hesitates and Elias jumps forward, trying to yank me back, so I’m in the middle of a tug-of-war between the two men.

“You can’t hurt her,” Elias argues. “What about Catcher?”

Below us the Unconsecrated reach and moan, pushing against the wall. A few more wash ashore, bloated bodies almost frozen. They lie there, still and silent. Eventually, they’ll struggle to their feet as well, hungering for the living.