Thane lingers in my periphery like the dead on the edge of campus. I wait until I catch him on his phone and bolt, charging out the mausoleum door. I slide on the slick cement, wet from dew, and land right in the middle of a dead man standing at the end of the steps. My chest seizes, and I can’t breathe. My arm goes numb, and I think for a moment that my heart might explode. I manage to stagger to my feet but don’t gain my balance before falling again. This time, I tumble through a dead woman in a long skirt. My stomach turns, and I hit the ground, vomit, and black out.

I wake to Thane lifting me from the ground. I feel like a child, cradled against his chest, my hands bound in front of me.

He returns me to the mausoleum and sets me down on top of a tomb in one of the adjoining rooms. From outside the mausoleum, I hear the howls of my hounds. They’ve found me. It means two things—the Valryn can find me faster, but Thane’s also running out of time.

He leans over me, eyes wandering over my face as if he’s trying to memorize me. I wonder if, for a moment, Influence has lessened its hold. Then he says, “I really do care about you, Anora.”

For a moment, I spy the other Thane, the one buried deep under Influence’s control.

Then he says, “Which is why I’m going to try and do this without killing you.”

Then Thane lifts a knife and brings it down into my shoulder.

I scream as the blade pierces my skin and hits the tomb beneath me with a clunk. He draws back and waits, as if expecting something to happen—and suddenly, I understand what he’s trying to do…summon Charon with my death.

My face is wet, stained with tears, and hot blood gushes from my wound, soaking my clothes and matting my hair.

I think of stupid things like how much blood I have to lose before it’s too much and where major arteries are located. This can’t be my end. Where the hell are Shy and Natalie? Mr. Val? The Order?

He draws the blade over his head again, aiming for the other shoulder. When the knife breaks skin, I swear it hits bone, and the impact makes my screams a thousand times louder. My ears ring.

“Stop, please, please, please.” My words turn into a whispered, breathless prayer, and Charon doesn’t come.

“Fuck!” he says, and his dark eyes contain a frantic fire. He lifts the blade to strike when a blur of black charges into him, knocking him off his feet. The next moment, Natalie is standing over me, reaching for my bound hands with a knife.