EMBER’S POV

I’m fighting so hard against the men holding me that my shoulders feel like they’re going to dislocate.

I reach through to Sapphire with every ounce of willpower I have, I scream, and I thrash, but there is no release of the power we had at the Bacchanal. There is no release of strength or divine fury, or a miracle.

All there is the ugly stench of death.

I can see down the hallway into the storage room — Maurice on the floor, chest wound bleeding, his eyes open and blinking.

Gale slumped against the pipe, still, with two holes in his chest. Harrison is standing between them...