“I know that,” I say. “But it isn’t our job to pick and choose who gets to survive. Everyone deserves the chance to exist.”

Theo’s face falls, and I know I’ve chosen the wrong words.

“Everyone?” Gil repeats darkly.

My thoughts come to an abrupt halt. “I was talking about humans.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes,” I hiss. “Now let me go.”

He steps in front of me, just as Theo moves to the side. Gil’s eyes dart between mine, and I’m sure the harder he stares the more the ropes start to constrict, squeezing at my rib cage like they’re squeezing the air out of my lungs.

I feel his anger like a volcanic blast, the debris pecking at my skin like it’s ripping me away piece by piece.

“Not until you understand. Not until you’ve seen,” he says.

And then he reaches for my shoulder, fingers closing over my skin, and the world dissolves.

War smells like blood and asphalt and firewood. My eyes burn from the smoke scorching through the air, and I wave an arm in front of me, reaching for something hidden in the dust.

But it’s not my arm. It’s Gil’s.

My fingers—his fingers—clutch around the handle of a sword half-buried in the black sand. I raise it in front of me and catch my reflection in the mix of metal and fresh blood. The sight of so much red makes me stagger, but I feel the urgency to press on.

I look to the sky. Legion Guards soar overhead, mocking us like birds ready to pick off whatever scraps are left of us when this battle is over.

Not that there’s ever an end.

But unlike Victory’s Legion with their metallic wings and white uniforms, these guards are different—they’re guards of War.

They move like banshees in the wind, screaming their menacing laughter and war cries, their red tunics making the sky look like it’s crying tears of blood. Flames erupt from their backs like phoenix wings, leaving streaks of crimson and gold in the sky wherever they move.

And those are just the guards in the air.

The ones on the ground move like jackals, vanishing like smoke and reappearing wherever they please. They wear black armor, with Prince Ettore’s colors appearing in the shades of blood stained on their uniforms and blades.

I spot one of the guards across the sandy field in a backdrop of fire and limbs. The screams of humans tear through my core, and I raise my sword and charge to whatever death awaits me.

Because in War, death finds everyone.