Chapter 7 · What the Hunt Costs

Ivy's mother smiled down at them. Wrong. All wrong. The lips moved but the eyes stayed flat and dead.

"Ivy." Cole's hand shot out, caught her shoulder. She was shaking. Not crying. Just shaking like something inside her had cracked clean through. "Don't look at it."

"That's her face." Ivy's voice came out hoarse. "That's—Cole, that's exactly her face. The scar on her chin. The way her left eye sits lower. How does it—"

The thing wearing her mother's face tilted its head. The chains holding it rattled. Iron, thick as Cole's wrist, bolted into the stone ceiling twenty feet up. Its arms were stretched wide, wrists raw where the metal bit in. It wasn't struggling. It looked comfortable.

"I wear what calls you," it said. The voice was wrong too. Too many layers. Like three people talking at once, not quite in sync. "The girl carries her mother. The boy carries his mentor. I wear what you cannot let go."

Cole's magic flared hot under his ribs. Fire wanted out. Wanted to burn that face off, wanted to turn it to ash and bone and nothing. His fingers curled. Sparks jumped between his knuckles.

"Cole.