Chapter 6 · Light It or Lose It

"You’re shaking, Lira. If you can’t hold the spark, we’re both dead in ten minutes," Jace said, his voice low and grating. He didn't move his hand from her shoulder, but he squeezed—hard enough to let her know he wasn't asking nicely.

Lira glared at him, her knuckles white as she gripped the cold iron of the Anchor. The device was a rusted, jagged spire of metal that looked more like a torture instrument than a beacon. "I can hold it. I just need... I need it to take."

"Take what?" Jace stepped closer, his chest almost brushing her back. He could smell the sharp, metallic tang of fear coming off her in waves. It was sweet. It was intoxicating. He felt his own hunger spike, a hollow ache in his gut that had nothing to do with food. "The Anchor is dead, Lira. It's a corpse. You can't jumpstart a corpse with a little bit of hope."

"Shut up," she snapped, though her breath hitched. "My mother lit this. She didn't do it with hope. She did it with—"

"With what? Blood? Screams?" Jace leaned in, his lips inches from her ear.