Cassian braced.
But he wasn’t ready.
The ruin floor buckled with ashudderthat cracked through his bones. A rupture tore open the chamber, jagged and black, vomiting magic that stank of rot and ancient flame.
Seraphine bolted upright with a cry just as a twisted plume of fire exploded skyward—only it wasn’t fire.
It was wrong.
Warped.
Hollow-touched.
It had come forthem. Not from above or from the Emperor’s blades.
From beneath.
From the thing waiting in the dark between worlds.
Cassian threw himself between her and the breach just as the first shape lunged free.
It wasn’t a creature. It was amemory.A piece of the Hollow.
It screamed with no mouth, tendrils reaching, not forhim—but forher.
“No!” he bellowed, stormfire exploding from his chest as he caught the lash with his bare hand. Magic hissed, recoiled, thenrippedbackward right into him.
Pain tore through his spine. Visions struck like lightning.
He staggered, gasping and the world spun—shifted.
He stood in a place he didn’t know. A hall of ash and light and blood-soaked banners.
At the center, a woman held a child.
Hischild.
A girl. Dark hair. Gold-flecked eyes. Laughing.
Seraphine’s arms wrapped around her.
Safe.
Alive.
Cassian fell to his knees.
Then itshifted again.
The girl was gone.
The laughter—gone.
Only Seraphine stood there, fire bleeding from her hands, eyes full of rage and loss.
“I told you not to leave me,” she said.
He reached for her—but his hands were ash.
