Thierren grabs his wand from Sparrow’s bedside table and rushes to the balcony’s doors, Sparrow following close behind. He pushes the doors open and steps out, and Sparrow slips out after him, her gut clenching as they find the city enveloped in chaos. Panic-stricken revelers are streaming away from the docks in a purple tide, children crying and trailing strings of purple runic orbs as they’re swiftly dragged away.

Sparrow lifts her gaze toward the Vo Mountains and her heart seizes.

A waterfall of dark gray smoke is billowing down from a huge crater near the range’s top, a lighter curtain of mist rising skyward as Vu Trin soldiers yell orders and race down the street below against the flow of the crowd. It’s clear, from the line of huge gray runes topping the crater, that this was no natural occurrence.

“Thierren,” Sparrow manages as the purple moonlight grays, “do you think the Mages are invading?” Her eyes swing to meet his, the feel of a shared nightmare clear in that one, rattled look. “Effrey and Mii Vun,” she rasps, wild desperation singeing to life. “They’re in the Voling Gardens.”

Distant shrieks split the air, and Sparrow watches in sick astonishment as black specks launch themselves from the mountains’ Shadow-spewing gash.

Broken dragons.

And just like that, she’s thrust back onto the Fae Islands, hell-bent on getting Effrey to safety, no matter what she has to fight through to do it. She draws her rune blade, a reckless, trauma-forged courage rising.

Thierren takes hold of her arm, his expression gone raptor-hard. “Sparrow, listen to me. We’ll find Effrey together, but you need to stay close to me. If Vogel cuts out the runic dome—” his eyes flick to her blade “—that rune blade will be useless. And the city will turn into a weapon against itself when every runic support gives way.”

A deeper desperation unfolds in the pit of Sparrow’s stomach as the Xishlon moon’s loving purple light vanishes. Bordering on full-blown panic, she vaults over the balcony’s railing onto the fire escape’s black metal ladder, her heart galloping in her chest as she scrambles down the rickety structure.

Thierren drops to the street behind her and catches her as she’s nearly knocked over by a fleeing Noi woman covered in purple glitter.

“Stay close,” he insists. “Every rune is about to lose power, but my wand won’t. Stay right by my side.”

Sparrow nods, and they set off at a sprint toward the pier, Thierren’s hand tight around hers, running against the crowd’s flow as broken dragons screech in overhead and screams rise, the dragons’ hue a bizarre steely gray. Sparrow and Thierren skid to a halt as one of the dragons sets course directly for them, rears back its serpentine head then whips it forward.