Kreutzer narrowed his eyes, then nodded. “I’ll have my tools brought to the chamber.”

“Yes,” Pitr said. “That would be ideal.”

Then Pitr became solid again. His grip was now a fist clutching Daniel by the throat. His mouth stretched into a rictus, rotted teeth sharp and grinding beneath glowing eyes.

“I want him to feel it. Each excruciating moment of your pain. I want you to cry for him. I will break him, and his power will be mine. Do you understand me?”

Daniel said nothing, despite the cold dread filling him. Bait. They wanted to use him as bait for Liam.

“I want him to come try to save you. Hear you begging for mercy. And I want him to watch as you die.”

Daniel closed his eyes. “I died a long time ago.” How many times had he dreamed of this moment, of telling these men exactly what he thought of them? And yet he had no words, no knife or pistol in his hand either. It had all been a waste. “You bastards killed me when you sent my family to Chełmno.”

Pitr’s grip loosened, and he slithered back.

“Come.” Kreutzer seized Daniel by his bound hands. “Maybe we can make your death mean something more.”

“Welcome to the Realm of the Dead.”

The chamber they dragged him to was a cavernous, ritualistic space, gaudily appointed like some sort of medieval sanctuary, with curving stone walls and too many candles to count. A shaft of light illuminated a sole lectern in the center of the room. Daniel’s head felt woozy; whatever they’d given him had imbued the whole space with a misty, hazy atmosphere that threw garish shadows onto the rough sandstone walls. Daniel knelt, hands bound behind him, while Pitr held a dagger under his chin. Thin rivulets of blood ran down his neck and arms, trickling with warmth.

And then there was the machine—the two machines—

Liam’s oscillators. The curved metal posts emitted a noise that rolled over and over at a painfully low frequency, thousands of times stronger than any radio wave. It threatened to tear open Daniel’s thoughts.

A girl appeared in the opening to the chamber, taking in the sight with wide rabbit eyes. “Herr Doktor . . . ?”

“Ilse, my dear, there you are. Better late than never.”

The girl—Ilse—blinked, trying to regain her composure. Her gaze skittered toward Daniel’s, but just as soon darted away. “J-ja, mein Herr. What is it you need?”

“This one”—Kreutzer jerked his head toward Daniel—“he’s showing remarkable resilience, isn’t he? Come. Help me make use of him yet. Prepare the oscillators.”

Pitr chuckled. The sound was almost inhuman, rumbling deep in Daniel’s marrow.

“Perhaps it is . . . too cruel to use a prisoner for this, Herr Doktor.” Ilse clutched her clipboard to her chest. “We have so many volunteers—”

“Nonsense.” Kreutzer waved her off. “Now, help us prepare for the ritual.”