And yet deep down, he supposed he’d been hoping Liam would find a way to stop him.

No, hope was foolish and wasteful. Why should Daniel cling to hope in such a worthless world as this? Why should he fight to make it better? There was nothing to fix. At least the shadow world was more honest about what it was: darkness and blood and endless agony and rage. Humans were the real monsters who wore the skin of innocent creatures while underneath, they festered with hate.

After very little time, the door to his cell clanged open. Daniel glanced up, squinting into the harsh burst of light as Dr. Kreutzer stepped inside. But it was the boy who followed him into the cell who gave Daniel pause. He was shorter and a few years older than Daniel. Perhaps. The sallow, haunted expression in his eyes spoke of someone far older. His dark hair was swept to one side over bottle-lens glasses. And when he moved, he—

Daniel squinted. He didn’t know how to describe it, except as an echo, shadow trailing behind the boy’s limbs. An uneasy tide rose in Daniel’s gut, his subconscious working out something his mind hadn’t yet put into words.

Kreutzer wrinkled his nose at the stench of hard water and molding stone and human waste that permeated the cell. “You’re certain this will work?”

The boy’s smile was brutal, carved out of his face with a rusty knife. “He smells of Doyle’s spells.” He stepped forward, one hand raised, and instinctively, Daniel jerked his head away. Yet this only made him laugh with a wretched, metallic scrape.

Revulsion flushed over Daniel. “Pitr.”

Pitr’s eyes narrowed to hot points of fire as he gripped Daniel by the chin and forced Daniel’s face upward to study him. His touch was clammy; his movements jerked awkwardly, like a marionette. And still he smiled and smiled.

“I am so much more than Pitr now.”

Daniel tried to shrink back, but Pitr held firm.

“Did he love you?” Speaking low turned Pitr’s voice scratchy, and it felt like claws raking over Daniel’s skin. “Oh, I hope he did.”

The doctor regarded Daniel like a beautifully marbled cut of meat, making Daniel’s skin crawl. “You will pay for what you did to me.” He turned his face into the grimy light, the burn scars from the fire at the movie house in Hallenberg shiny like sausage casing. “I look forward to it.”

Pitr trailed a fingertip down Daniel’s jaw until it rested against his collarbone where it jutted from his torn-open shirt. His touch felt like venom, burning Daniel alive from the inside.

The air around Pitr shimmered then—his touch faded away as if he was backing off. But he hadn’t moved at all—he’d only thinned. Pitr sighed like he was scolding a child. “I will need to ready him first.”