“You’re sure this won’t kill me?”

“Positive,” he replies. “You’re not leaving this world. You’ll be able to see it; it will not be able to see you. Fae can hear us, though, so you must remain silent.”

He rubs his thumb across my palm, setting off every warning alarm in my head. I start to pull my hand away, but at that moment, everything goes black.

I gasp when the chill hits me. My vision returns a moment later, but everything—the stairs, the arcing stone ceiling, even Lord Raen—is bathed in a blue light. When I turn my head, the world ripples as if it’s underwater. The air in my lungs is cold enough to threaten frostbite, but it’s not quite as bad as fissuring through the In-Between. I can endure this. I think.

Raen says something. I can’t make it out because his voice sounds muffled, but Micid gives him a quick reply, then escorts me down the stairs.

This is dizzying. Micid and I are apart from the world, moving through it at a different pace, it seems, even though we’re following Raen and reach the entrance to the storage room just one moment after him.

“Unlock the gate,” Lord Raen says to the two guards, his voice still distant, still hard to understand.

I expect them to protest, but the swordsman on the left asks, “Is there something we can help you find?”

“No.”

The guards exchange a brief look at the curtness of Raen’s response, but they open the door.

Raen enters. One guard follows him inside. Micid and I slip past the other, who frowns after Lord Raen.

“Perhaps I can shorten your search, my lord,” the first fae says. “What are you looking for?”

“A sword.”

The fae scans the hundreds of swords slanted in their racks against the wall. Cautiously, I urge Micid past him. I need to move before my teeth start chattering.

“Where’s the inventory?” Raen asks.

“Inventory?”

“Yes.” Raen’s eyes narrow. “You’re guarding these artifacts. Certainly you have a list of the items stored here. How else would you know if something is missing?”

“Artifacts?” the fae says, clearly seeing the contents of the storage room as discarded junk.

“Get me the inventory. Now.”

The guard blanks his expression. “Yes, my lord.”

I’m face-to-face with him when he abruptly turns. Micid pulls me to the side, out of the way just in time. His free hand goes to my waist. It remains there even after the threat passes. I manage to resist the urge to elbow him in the gut. Instead, I step away, putting as much distance between us as possible, and pull him toward the back of the storage room. “There’s another guard around the corner.”

The ther’rothi nods. As soon as Garrad comes into view, he releases my hand. I see Micid blur forward for an instant and then the blue glow of the In-Between vanishes. The Realm is hot, almost scalding, in comparison. I fill my lungs with air. It feels like I’m taking a breath in a sauna.

Garrad leaps to his feet. His sword is halfway out of its scabbard when it’s suddenly rammed back in. The flesh at his throat splits open. Blood pours out the deep gash. It pours out of his mouth when he gurgles out a cough. He staggers into the wall, starts to slide down it, but vanishes into the ether before he reaches the floor.

A cold fist clenches in my chest as I watch Garrad’s soul-shadow rise up.

Micid reappears.

“You didn’t have to kill him.” My words are barely a whisper. No one was supposed to die.

He wipes his blade clean on his sleeve. “He would have prevented me from opening the humans’ cell. Where is it?”

“You could have knocked him out.” Garrad was one of Kyol’s men. Kyol trusted him. He trusted me.

Micid shrugs. “The humans, shadow-reader. Our time is limited.”

My skin is clammy, my fingers prickling and numb. I can’t tear my gaze away from the bloodstain on the floor. I can’t forget the shock in Garrad’s eyes, but I jab a finger toward the wall. I don’t know what else to do. I’m committed now. I can’t not go through with this.

Micid drags the cart out of the way. “Where is the triggerstone?”

“Above you.”

“Where?” He motions me forward. “Show me.”

Heart stammering, I walk to the wall and stand on my tiptoes to touch the stone.

“Here?” he asks.

His hand brushes mine, and I jerk back. “Yes.”

The stone glows blue with his magic. When I hear the first rumblings of the slab moving aside, I try to slip away, but Micid moves. I end up trapped between him and the cart. He bumps my shoulder—not accidentally—then catches me when I teeter off-balance. The way his hands grab hold of my hips is way too intimate. I panic.

I shove away, but somehow end up even closer to him. He laughs when I struggle, then stops when I manage to get my dagger out of its sheath. I spin out of his arms and hold it between us.

I cut him. His right sleeve is slit and there’s a thin line of blood on his pale skin. Really, it’s no more than a scratch, but apparently that’s enough to piss him off. His expression darkens a second before he disappears.

Oh, crap.

I scurry backward. My arm goes numb when my dagger is knocked from my hand. Micid, still invisible, launches into me. I crash down on my back. His hand tightens around my throat. I pry at fingers I can’t see, try to squeak out a call for help, but there’s no air. The wall was sliding open, wasn’t it? Where the hell is—

“McKenzie?” Naito stands above me. As my vision blurs, I see him scan me from head to toe. Then, finally, he kicks out.

Micid grunts. I suck in a breath and punch at where I think his head should be. I miss.

“Naito!” I manage a shout before a hand clamps around my throat again.

Naito launches himself on top of me. The other human joins him, striking at the space between us. I slide across the ground, away from the fight, and suck air into my lungs. By the time I’m breathing normally, the struggle’s over.

“What is this?” Naito shoves Micid, apparently still caught in the In-Between, away.

“Ever hear of a ther’rothi?”

He scowls. “They don’t exist.”

“Apparently, they do,” I say, climbing to my feet. The other human helps Naito up. “Lord Raen hired him to help get you out.”

Naito, dusting himself off, stops midbrush and stiffens. “Lord Raen?”

I don’t get a chance to explain. There’s the sound of running footsteps, then the fae who was left guarding the door to the storage room rounds the corner. He skids to a halt, surveying the scene behind the blade of his sword. I follow his line of sight to the puddle of blood on the floor.

“We didn’t kill him,” I say, though guilt stabs through me. I’m at least partially responsible for Garrad’s death. I brought Micid here.

“Back into the cell,” the fae orders, taking a step forward. I back up. Naito stands his ground, but the other human moves to the left, bends down, and retrieves my dropped dagger.

“Back in the cell, Evan,” the fae tries in English.

“No,” Evan says. He has no hope of taking down a fae, especially one of Kyol’s swordsmen, with that dagger. He must be desperate, though, because he strikes at the air with an aggressive—and almost comical—roar.