There’s so many of them, all dressed up like they’re going to a party. Musicians still holding their instruments, sitting like they might strike up the next song at any moment, if their throats weren’t slit. Blood running down fine dresses and jackets, eyes open wide in horror. I thought the library had been abandoned for centuries, but they can’t have been here for more than a few hours.

I feel the scream tearing out of my throat before I hear it. Its echo lingers in the high, arched ceiling like captured birdsong. My eyes burn. I clap a hand over my mouth.

What happened here?

Another high-pitched sob rings through the room. Someone in here is still alive.

I’ve never wanted anything in my life as much as I want to turn and run and run until I’m back with Isolde and this whole library is behind me.

But I have to do something.

“Hello?” I say quietly. My voice shakes so badly it feels like the word might break in the air. I scramble quickly from my knees back to my feet and force myself forward.

“Help,” someone says weakly.

I break into a run, my eyes skimming over the corpses for some sign of life. I’m met with blank, open eyes and have to fight down a wave of sickness. I step around them, desperate in my need to find the survivor—but there’s no way to avoid the puddles of blood. My boots splash in it, trailing deep crimson prints along the white stone.

Movement.

A young woman near the middle of the room raises her head, just a little. I’ve seen her face before. Somewhere I can’t remember, not that long ago...

I run to her, crashing to my knees again. My fine-spun faerie skirts soak up the blood thirstily. “I’m here,” I say. “I’ll—”

Recognition hits me so hard I gasp. It’s the girl from the inn, the girl Raze had flirted with, the girl with lively blue eyes and lovely black hair and cheeks flushed with life. Her face is almost bone-white now, her hair matted with blood—hers or someone else’s? It doesn’t matter. “I’ll—”

I can’t say I’m going to help her. That would be a lie.

The girl looks up at me, her chest heaving as she struggles for breath. She reaches for my hand, and I close it around her frail white fingers. A trail of blood trickles out of the corner of her mouth, and she coughs wetly. She must have been stabbed somewhere vital: it’s too dark to see for sure.

Hot tears blur my vision. “What happened here?” I whisper, rippling the quiet air with the rasp of my voice.

She’s fading from consciousness. Her blue eyes focus on me for a second, then float away. Her lips part as she whispers something I can’t hear.

“Can you move?”

She just looks at me helplessly.

There is nothing I can do.

How did she get here? echoes in the back of my mind with a hundred other questions, but that isn’t what matters now.