Brella dropped her head into her hands and groaned. “Oh, God of Chaos. I’m sorry you had to see that, Scratch.”

“What’s a Passenger?”

Brella went wide-eyed, caught like a doe. “I wasn’t sure you had heard that.”

Anger sparked in her chest. “What are you hiding from me, Brella?”

“Nothing! Well, nothing important.”

A lie, of course. She had been prepared for this, for knowing that Brella lied remorselessly, boldly. It shouldn’t have stung. “So, what? Lollie just keeps bringing it up for fun?”

“Lollie is just . . . Lollie.” Brella spoke the name with irritated familiarity, and it struck Scratch how little she really knew about this woman. She knew Brella was defensive. That she had a whole slew of brothers and sisters who were . . . somewhere. She was a brewer, supposedly. And despite the clenched-jaw care with which she approached the world, she was either the sort of person who careened headlong into an impossible quest, or a skilled and practiced liar. Disappointment dripped through Scratch’s body, slowing her blood and weighing her down.

“Tell me what a Passenger is,” she demanded, but there was nothing behind it but resignation.

“A blood bond,” Brella began, after a careful pause. “It doesn’t just get you through to the Between. It connects us.”

“Connects us how?”

She lifted a shoulder. “I don’t really know. I’ve never done it before. Supposedly it’s intense. Fae magic,” she added. “It’ll make us close. Apparently, we’ll be able to sense each other’s emotions while we’re Between.”

“Why did Lollie get so bothered about it? Is it . . .” She struggled for the word. “Special?”

“I guess. My mom always told me . . .” She broke off, staring at nothing. “She said it was something to do with someone I cared about. I was waiting. I never brought Lollie. It didn’t seem right.”

“And you’re bringing me.”

Brella’s eyes hardened. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

Anger warred with guilt. “You chose to take me with you.”

“I had to. There was no other way. And I don’t see you complaining. Would you rather still be in the dungeon? Or perhaps hanging from that slender little neck, hmm?”

Her stomach churned. “Brella . . .”

Brella covered her face. Scratch thought for one horrified moment that Brella might be crying. Should she . . . go to her? Touch her? Every option looked like it might end with a broken finger, so she stood and watched while Brella breathed behind her closed hands.