Friends.

I stop, my breath coming ragged, too quick, as I gaze all around, my joy vanishing the moment I realize two truths I’ve forgotten ’til now:

—I’m not like my friends. My body’s immortal, my soul is not.

—Damen’s not here. Which means he forgot. Couldn’t hold on to the memories. Allowed the river to get the best of him.

And, having traded the soul’s immortality for physical immortality there’s only one place left to find him.

Trapped inside the Shadowland.

Chapter twenty-four

Though I’ve been there before, three times at last count, I have no idea how to find it. No idea where it actually exists, or how to locate it on a map.

My first visit was via the experience Damen shared with me in his head. The second was when I telepathically showed Roman the place where Drina’s soul went. And the third was when Haven killed me, sent me to that horrible abyss for what felt like forever but was probably only a matter of minutes.

That’s how the Shadowland works.

But it’s not like I ever made the trip by foot. It’s not like I ever set out to find the physical manifestation of it.

So, hoping for answers, I fall back on all that I’ve learned, the things Ava taught me. And instead of allowing my mind to run amok with questions and thoughts that only result in creating panic and uncertainty while never actually arriving anywhere helpful or good, I choose to focus on the silence within. Trusting it to guide me, to lead me, to see that I arrive in the place I’m most meant to be.

Determined to follow my gut, my heart, my intuition, the hidden truth resting inside—I blaze my own trail, led solely by my own instincts, but when it feels like the trek is taking too long, I decide to speed it up a bit and manifest a partner.

Riding my mount for as far as she’ll go, I slide off her back the second she halts just shy of the perimeter, the place where the grass turns to mud, where the trees are all burned out and barren despite the constant deluge of rain that never ceases to fall. It’s exactly like I first thought, this horrible place really is Summerland’s yin—its shadow self—its opposite side—providing a clear demarcation between the two worlds—one light, one dark—leaving me with no doubt in my mind that it marks the entrance to the Shadowland.

I tap my horse on her rear, urging her to head for greener pastures, as I glance all around, hoping to find Lotus, or maybe even a guide of some kind, but realizing I’m all on my own I trudge deep into the muck. Trudge past what feels like mind-numbing miles of bleak, dreary, desolate, drenched, and soggy landscape, wondering if there will ever come a point where it turns into something else, stops looking the same. That point coming much sooner than imagined when I stumble upon a scene so drastically different, I stop, swipe a hand over my eyes, and blink a few times to make sure I’m not hallucinating, that I really am seeing what I think I’m seeing. And even then, I still have my doubts.

I creep forward, my head swiveling as my eyes strive to take it all in. It’s surreal, surely a crazy mirage of my own mental making. And yet, no matter how many times I blink, no matter how long I hold my breath and stare, it refuses to yield in any way until I’ve no choice but to accept the fact that the scene that lies before me is not only real, but an exact replica of the one in my dream.

The dream I was sure Riley had sent me.

The dream I had again very recently.

The dream I was sure had been merely symbolic, something I was meant to take my time pondering, analyzing, dissecting, until I could finally break it down into manageable bits that actually meant something.

Never once thinking I was supposed to take it literally.

Never once thinking that an entire landscape of rectangular blocks—a maze of glass prisons—could really exist.

I take a deep breath, take a few cautious steps, and squinch up my gaze. Peering at a crowd of tormented souls, knowing exactly how they feel having been there myself.

Alone.

Isolated.

Devoid of all hope.

Surrounded by silence, an infinite darkness, forced to relive their very worst choices, their most tragic mistakes and wrong turns, the bad decisions and selfish acts that caused others pain—forced to relive their own personal hell over and over again. Experiencing the pain they’ve caused others as though it’s their own—just like I did when it was me in their place. Having no way of knowing that there are others just like them—that while they may feel alone, the irony is they’re actually trapped among their own kind. All of them ruled by an assault of images, age-old regrets, with no way to turn off the pictures, no way to silence their heads.

And just as I wonder what I’m expected to do from here, the memory of Lotus’s voice plays in my ear.

There are many who await you. Await you to release them, to release me.

And I know this is what she meant. I have to start here.

I approach the first block, observing a frenzy of energy that belongs to a tormented, agonized soul I don’t recognize. Though there’s no doubt it’s one of Roman’s, since other than me, the only ones Damen turned were the orphans. And I can’t help but wonder just how many immortals Roman might’ve made, remembering how he once answered Haven when she posed the question: That’s for me to know, and the rest of the world to find out. Not to mention how many might’ve inadvertently, accidently, ended up here.

I close my eyes, press my palms to the glass, and wait for some kind of sign, further instructions, an order that will soon be revealed, only to be met by a blast of despair so dark, a torment so bleak, I can barely contain it. Soon followed by a surge of bitter cold so intense I can’t help but jerk back. Gaping at my freezing, frostbitten palms, knowing that as long as I’m here, there’s no chance they’ll heal.