“We’ll never make it,” Emma whispers.
“We will.” I squeeze her hand, trying to project confidence I don’t feel. “Trust me.”
But she’s right. We won’t all make it. Not together. Not without a distraction. Without a sacrifice. The same choice Meredith made, giving her life so others could live free. The choice Brianna’s lover made, dying to give her a chance.
The choice crystallizes in my mind, sharp and clear as broken glass. They go. I fight. Maybe this time, I’ll finally do something worthy of the love I’ve been given.
The main hall stretches before us, vast and gleaming. Afternoon sun streams through towering windows, painting everything in false warmth. The same windows I stared through during endless lessons, dreaming of freedom while reciting death spells. A half dozen women crisscross through the hall, their Court uniforms pristine, their movements precise. Everything here is precise. Controlled. Perfect.
Just like they tried to make us.
“This way.” I guide both of them along the shadow of the wall, trying to stay hidden behind massive stone columns. My footsteps whisper silent across marble floors I once polished as punishment for showing weakness. “The gateway circle is across the courtyard in the lawn. Once you’re through—”
“What do you mean ‘you’?” Brianna’s grip on my arm tightens, her fingers digging into bruised flesh. The pain barely registers compared to the void in my chest. “We’re all going.”
“No.” The word comes out soft, broken. Like everything inside me. “Someone has to hold them back. Give you time to get through.” Just like Meredith did. Just like Brianna’s lover tried to do.
“No.” Tears spill down my sister’s bruised face, cutting clean tracks through dried blood.
“Please.” The word breaks between us like glass. Memories flood back—her screams as they killed the man she loved, my silence as they dragged her away. My cowardice disguised as duty. “I understand now. What they took from you.” My hand presses against the hollow space in my chest where Bast should be, where our bond used to sing with love and trust and forever. “I know what love feels like. What it means to lose it. I’mso sorry, Brianna. I should have helped you escape back then. Should have believed you instead of their lies.”
“Bridget—”
“I failed you. Over and over.” Tears blur my vision, but I force myself to meet her gaze. To face the truth of my betrayal. “But not this time.” I look at Emma, at her hand still pressed protectively over her stomach. At the miracle growing inside her, protected by Meredith’s final gift. “You both need to get out. That baby needs to be free of this place.”
“We can fight together,” Emma pleads. “Your magick—”
“Is broken. Like me.” I manage a bitter smile, tasting salt and copper. “But I can still buy you time. Emma, you need someone to show you how to get through the gateway. Brianna knows the way.”
A commotion rises from the practice floor. Someone’s spotted us. Shouts of alarm echo across marble, bouncing off stone walls that have witnessed centuries of similar betrayals.
“Go.” I shove them toward the courtyard doors, toward freedom. “Now!”
“I can’t—” Brianna sobs, her good eye swimming with tears.
“Yes, you can.” I grab her face, forcing her to meet my eyes. My thumbs brush away tears, gentle against bruised skin. This close, I can see every mark they’ve left on her. Every scar and shadow. Every hurt I let happen in the name of trying to protect her. “Be the brave one. Like you always were. Get Emma out. Keep her safe. Please.”
“I love you.” The words catch in her throat, raw with years of unspoken pain.
“I love you too.” The words come easily now, when it’s almost too late. All those wasted years, thinking love was weakness. “I’m so proud of you. For fighting them. For believing in more than this place allowed.” For being stronger than me. Braver than me.
More shouts. Running feet. The sound of practiced formations breaking apart.
“Go!”
Young witches run toward us, their practice uniforms a blur of gray and white. Most look barely old enough to cast real spells—faces I recognize from training sessions, girls still learning the arts of control and death. But there are so many of them. And behind them, I feel the approaching storm of Delta Team’s power.
“Go!” I shove Brianna and Emma toward the gateway. “Run!”
They sprint across the lawn. My sister’s limp barely slows her—the same determination that kept her alive through years of torture pushing her forward. Emma matches her pace without hesitation.
I step out and cast the first shield between the approaching witches and my escaping family. The magic feels wrong without Bast’s strength flowing through our bond, like trying to breathe with broken ribs. But I pour everything I have into it, weaving light and power into a barrier between death and freedom.
Training spells splash against my shield like summer rain. These young witches haven’t learned real combat yet—their attacks are textbook perfect but lack killing force. Just like I was, before theMathairsshaped me into one of their best.
An alarm bell rings from the castle, its tone piercing through my concentration. The same bell that rang when Brianna tried to escape years ago.
My shield wavers as heavy footsteps thunder toward me. Delta Team emerges from the castle doors, their power crackling like storm clouds—my teachers, my tormentors, the women who helped forge me into a blade for theMathairsto wield.
