The sound of iron hinges screaming open tore Emily from her shallow, broken sleep. Torchlight poured into her cell, painting the damp walls in orange flame. Two figures loomed in the doorway. Guards draped in heavy cloaks, their faces pale with scars that seemed to move in the flicker of light. Their shadows stretched grotesquely across the stone floor.
"On your feet," one barked, his voice gravelly.
Emily pressed back against the wall, panic clawing at her chest. "Where—where are you taking me?"
No one answered. A meaty hand seized her arm and yanked her forward, iron cuffs snapping around her wrists. The cold bite of metal made her wince.
They dragged her up through twisting corridors, past carvings of snarling faces gouged deep into the walls. Her bare feet scraped against uneven stone. The air thickened with smoke and the copper tang of blood the higher they climbed.
By the time they reached the chamber, Emily was trembling so hard her teeth chattered.
The hall opened into a cavernous space lit by dozens of torches. The ceiling soared into darkness. Figures in black and crimson robes stood in a circle, their heads bowed, their voices low as they chanted in a language that made Emily's skin crawl.
At the center of the circle lay another captive, a man, his body bound with rope, his mouth gagged. His eyes rolled wildly, desperate, terrified.
Emily's stomach lurched.
The leader stepped forward. His presence swallowed the firelight, as though the flames bent away from him. His cloak dragged against the stone, his pale hands folded with ceremonial precision.
"Tonight," he intoned, "the bloodline is tested."
A ripple of assent passed through the robed figures.
Emily was shoved to her knees at the edge of the circle. Cold stone bit into her skin. She wanted to look away, but some morbid force held her gaze pinned.
The leader's hand rose. The chanting swelled. One of the robed acolytes stepped forward with a blade that gleamed like water under the torchlight.
Emily's heart raced. She couldn't breathe. They're going to kill him. Right in front of me.
Then, she saw Breckt standing among them, half-shadowed, his golden eyes catching the light. He wore the same robe as the others, but he didn't move, didn't chant. He only watched.
Their gazes locked across the circle, and something in his expression cracked. For a fraction of a heartbeat, Emily saw the man who had leaned against her cell bars, the man who had whispered that he had once been human.
She shook her head violently, desperate. "Stop them!" she mouthed, her throat too tight for sound.
Breckt didn't move. His jaw tightened, his fists clenched, but he said nothing.
The blade descended.
The man on the ground convulsed, the gag muffling his scream as crimson spread across the stone. The chanting reached a fever pitch. The circle closed in.
Emily's vision blurred with tears. The sound of her own pulse thundered in her ears. She wanted to lunge forward, to throw herself between them, but the chains bit deep, holding her fast. And Breckt just stood there.
Her chest burned with betrayal, with terror, with the realization that maybe he wasn't different at all.
The leader's voice cut through the chaos. "And so the line is sealed. But it is not complete."
Every hooded head turned toward Emily.
Her blood turned to ice.
The leader's pale smile widened. "Bring the girl."
Hands seized her arms. She thrashed, screamed, but the circle was unbroken. The torches roared higher, the shadows dancing like demons on the walls.