“But we’re supposed to be helping,” Rebecca said. Her voice was stronger, but she still leaned on Bitterlich.

Isabelle crouched to her level. “I need you to watch over your father for me. Make sure he doesn’t get into too much trouble.”

“But…”

Isabelle touched a finger to Rebecca’s lips. “Take care.”

Then she stood and took Bitterlich by the hand. His golden eyes were as deep and warm as summer sunlight. “I wish we had more time.”

“So do I,” he said. “But the fate of the world could rest in no better hands.”

They embraced and kissed, trying to fit in the hope and care of an entire lifetime. But it could not last.

“Bring me back,” she said. Then she turned and gripped the center of the spiral with her spark-hand. The nexus tightened at her intrusion, locking her out, but she did not try it force for force. She had not the Builder’s strength. Instead she recalled the mechanism she found inside the vault key when she’d taken it from Quill. She remembered the pattern, the peculiar many-dimensional shape. She slid toward the center of the spiral, growing smaller and thinner as she ran along its infinite edge. She felt her way through the constricting world until she found the gap, the hole that was shaped like the key. Into it she pulled herself, until she filled the whole space.

She turned the key.

Without so much as a pop, Isabelle vanished from the world.

Marie helped Jean-Claude back to his feet. His lungs burned and his head ached. His whole contingent had fallen, choking in that soundless nothingness. Even men hitting the ground had made no noise. He had no words for that empty world save Torment, and for a terrible moment he’d thought Hasdrubal had won.

When the world came back, he wasn’t entirely sure all of him had come with it, but Marie helped him to his feet, and all the men had survived it, though one of the marines sat weeping, inconsolable in his terror. Jean-Claude did not blame him in the least.

They had taken up a position on a ridge overlooking the point where the causeway touched the shoreline. He had scouts out in either direction and two in the woods behind just in case. There was nothing to do but wait. With any luck, this precaution would turn out to be unnecessary. Perhaps Travers had wandered into the forest and been eaten by a spider.

He looked to Marie, who sat still as only she could, like a statue, but alive inside.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Scared out of my mind,” she said flatly. “Life hurts, but it’s also beautiful.”

“If you could change anything—”

“No,” Marie said, before he could even finish. “I wouldn’t change anything.”

“Not even becoming a bloodhollow?”