Ettore laughs, and a whistle escapes from his teeth. “Humans are so predictable.” In a flash, his knife is drawn and pressed against Gil’s unmoving throat.

“No!” I scream, lunging forward.

Ettore throws up a hand and I’m frozen midair, the weight of invisible chains pulling my limbs down.

Caelan watches with a furrowed brow, eyes moving between Gil and me.

“You can either cooperate, or I can force you to cooperate. But I promise the latter won’t be pleasant,” Ettore says, dragging his blade along the base of Gil’s neck so the flames start to burn his skin. “It’s not like my brother has much use for this one anymore.”

My nostrils flare as the stench of burning flesh grows stronger. Gil’s flesh. “Stop. Don’t hurt him.”

Ettore laughs, amused, and drops his knife, motioning toward the door.

He releases his hold over me, and I fall to the ground, landing on my knees. Pain radiates through me, but I stand anyway, fighting the rage and hurt.

When I walk past Caelan, I bite the inside of my cheek just to keep from thrashing him.

We walk down the hallway with Ettore leading the way. I try to pretend Caelan isn’t there at all, but his presence looms behind me. A darkness that has become my end.

“I’m looking forward to your time in War,” Ettore says from over his shoulder. “You’ll finally learn what our kind are really like. Because I assure you, Nami, not all of us spend our time in market stalls and ballrooms.”

I hear his disdain for Victory like a call to arms. He detests this place—detests what the Residents here have become.

Ettore’s subjects don’t spend their time pretending to be human. They’re hunters, and warlords, and they revel in brutalizing every one of their captives.

He doesn’t want to be one of us; he wants to rule us.

I think of Annika and the others and how their faces must’ve looked when their home was stormed. Will they be sent to War too?

Maybe we’ll all meet again soon. My mind releases the thought bitterly. I try to hold on to the idea of our reunion, but it doesn’t give me peace. Because if I feel betrayed by Gil, I can’t begin to imagine what they feel. Ahmet, who saw him as a son, and the others, who saw him as a brother.

Gil was never one of us. And I worry the realization alone will be worse than anything in War.

Our footsteps echo as we climb the stairs. The sound of being marched to hell.

But this time, hell has no hope.