“I won’t. If you sign with Myriad right here, right now.”

My gaze darts to Killian. He already knows my answer. His head is already bowed in defeat.

“I... I...can’t. I’m so sorry, Killian.” There has to be a better way. Caving to evil manipulation now means caving later.

“I’m sorry, as well.” She nods to one of the Shells.

He types into his wrist, a blue light glowing. Then he places a hand on Killian’s shoulder. Killian’s head lifts and our gazes lock for a split second. I see regret, sorrow and challenge. I feel them, too.

There’s so much I want to tell him. I consider you my family. I’m grateful for all you’ve done for me. We were learning from each other, weren’t we? I’m coming for you.

A blast of light slams into the two. Between one blink and the next, they’re gone, and I hiss with a combination of fury and concern.

“Now. Time to deal with you. The prodigal son,” Pearl says to Archer. “The fact that I admire your father is the only reason you’ll survive this day.”

“Don’t hurt him. Please.” I’ll beg for him, too. My boys.

She pats my cheek. “I hear he’s due to attend an Exchange.” She motions to one of the Shells. “Send him home so that he can at last receive it.”

As a gun is pressed between Archer’s eyes, he says, “I love you, Ten. You are the sister of my heart.”

“Don’t do this, Pearl. You said he’d live,” I shout, but the trigger is squeezed. Pop! Archer’s Shell bursts into ash.

“We freed his spirit from the Shell,” Pearl assures me. “That’s all.”

The escape hatch. Right.

She takes my hand and leads me through the house. We pass my dad, who’s standing beside the front door. He won’t look at me and even though this man tried to kill me—twice—his complete disregard wounds me all over again.

A limo is parked in the driveway. A man in a suit is waiting for us. He opens the back door and helps me inside, and Pearl slides in behind me.

“We’re going to a spa, just like we used to when you were a little girl. Remember?”

The spa. On the day my mother and brother died. The day she placed Killian in a hellish situation. The day she sent Archer to face judgment.

“I hate you,” I snarl at her.

She flinches, as though wounded. “You will not talk to me that way. Do you understand? I’m your superior. And Ten,” she says, her voice softening, “I’m your mother.”

“My mother is dead.” The words leave me, and I go still. A terrible thought hits me, and I can’t escape it. “Did you kill her? Did you kill my brother?”

Her gaze implores me to listen, to understand. “I am your mother. You’re Fused with my Ashley. I know it. The timing was perfect—a sign. And you glowed so brightly, as only Generals do.”

“I’m not just a General. I’m an Abrogate.” Or rather, a Conduit. The car motors forward, twisting and turning along the roads. “Eight other Myriadian Generals died the same day as Ashley.”

“Yes, but all the Generals are—” She stops herself, clears her throat.

“All the Generals are...what?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Oh, it matters. Apprehension radiates from her, as if she’s revealed a secret she should have died to protect.

“All you need to know is that you are my Ashley.” She stares straight ahead. “And that...that woman planned to break you out of Prynne, to keep you from me forever.” Disgust and anger drip from her tone. “Yes, I poisoned her. Something you will one day thank me for. Your brother was simply an unfortunate casualty.”

I breathe through my rage. I know what happens when the emotion pulls my strings. Chaos. Destruction. Which is unnecessary. Like everything else, rage is temporary, changeable. And if I allow it to control me, I allow it to make my decisions for me. In that case, I might as well be taken over by Ashley or anyone else.

But I can’t just sit here.

“You remind me of my father. You don’t see the harm in what you’ve done. Allow me to remedy that.” Without any more warning than that, I yank the wire from my bracelet and leap onto her lap. With a few swirls of my arm, I have the wire wrapped around her neck—thank you, Killian.

I yank my arm as hard as I can, cutting into her jugular. “This is all your so-called love will get you. Resistance.”

I’m about to release her, my point made, when her eye sockets clear and the Shell goes still.

The car stops abruptly a few seconds later, and the door opens. A scowling Pearl leans in and shoots me with a dart. As electric pulses beat through my body, making my muscles spasm, she shoots the useless Shell, turning it to ash, then slides into the seat, removes both my bracelets and throws them out the window. She frisks me for other weapons, finds none and relaxes in her seat.

The pulses taper off the moment she removes the dart from my neck, and I go lax.

“I don’t want to kill you,” she says, “but I will if I must. You and Ashley will end up in Many Ends, but one day you’ll return to the Land of the Harvest. I can find you again.”

“How?” As far as I know, once a spirit is lost in Many Ends, it’s lost for good.

“I’ll watch for signs.”

“And the so-called signs are never wrong?”

A slight tremor sweeps through her before she shrugs.

My head cants to the side. “Do you have any family in Troika?”

“I do.”

“You war with them?”

“I do,” she repeats. “Troikans want to destroy everything I hold dear. They look down their noses at me, only seeing a heathen they’ve deemed unworthy of their precious light. As if I’m inferior.”

“There are some who despise the animosity between the realms.” Archer and Deacon defend their home, but they also love their enemy. I’ve seen glimpses.

“You’re championing them?” Her eyes narrow on me. “If you continue to refuse Myriad, I’ll be forced to kill you myself. And then I’ll kill Killian.” She arches a brow, suddenly smug. “You care for him. Just the way he planned.”

She’s trying—again—to manipulate me. To turn me against the boy I’ve come to admire. “I won’t let you harm him. In fact, you have three seconds to release him from the Kennel and the collar before I sign with Troika. One.”

Her eyes narrow. “You can’t—”

“Two.”

She has a choice. Reach for a dagger and end me now, or comply. I didn’t lie. I will sign with her enemy.

“He will be released,” she rushes out.

“Now. Today.”

Her nod is stilted.

We lapse into silence, and I should feel triumphant. I’m actually sad.

I peer out the window, trying to figure out where we’re going. I know the area. Designated for stupid-rich Myriadians. My mom shops—shopped—in these stores.

The limo pulls in front of a spa, as promised. I say nothing as I’m ushered into the warmth of the day. The sidewalk gleams as if it’s made of marble—painted cement—and palm trees sway in a gentle floral-scented breeze. With towering white columns and a gleaming staircase that leads to a wide set of arched doorways, the building could pass for a castle.