My trousers were torn and my knees bleeding, but I didn’t pause to examine my injuries. I ran. The sluag’s tunnel had let me out in the Elysium quarter, not far from where Tristan had set me down when I’d come in through the moon hole. Bearings in check, I sprinted through the streets, not worrying about anyone recognizing me in the chaos.

“Sluag, sluag!” Trolls were running in every direction, some carrying heavy spears, while others seemed more interested in taking cover. Troll-lights flickered, then went out, and screams filled the air.

I skidded down one flight of stairs and then the next, less concerned about taking the most direct route to the library than I was of staying ahead of the darkness biting at my heels.

And the sluag in Elysium wasn’t alone. Across the river, there were three more pools of blackness moving through the streets. How many sluag were in Trollus, and why had they all of a sudden become so aggressive?

“Move!”

I stumbled sideways, nearly falling into a fountain as four guards stormed up the steps, spears in hand. Seconds later, the screams of a sluag filled the air. So close. Too close. I couldn’t help but wonder if the creatures knew I was here. Whether they were hunting me in particular.

The great columns of the library reared up ahead, troll-light burning comfortingly in the crystal sconces to either side of the entrance. But I couldn’t go in that way. The librarians were not typically confrontational, but neither did they allow just anyone to wander their stacks. Instead, I crept around to a small entrance at the rear that I’d used in the past.

It was locked.

Swearing a streak that would’ve made Tristan proud, I reached up to retrieve a hairpin, realizing only as my fingers brushed my newly shortened curls that there were none to be had. I touched the dagger at my belt, debating whether I could use it to break the lock. Bells were still echoing through the cavern, which in combination with the waterfall, would surely drown out the noise.

Extracting the blade, I slid the tip into the mechanism and then slammed my weight against it. Metal ground against metal, but when I tried to turn the knife, nothing happened.

The sound of voices drifted toward me. It was another patrol. Grabbing hold of the hilt with both hands, I tried to remove the blade, but it was stuck.

I heaved and hauled for all I was worth, but I was out of time. Just as the patrol rounded the corner, I dived off the side of the staircase and into the shadows.

“It’s as though the blasted things knew what we were planning,” one of the guards said, spitting into the gutter. “Has to be a dozen of them in the city, if not more.”