Chapter 18 · The Hollow One's Nightmare

"You walk in there alone and you die in ten seconds flat."

Sloane's forearm slammed into my chest, pinning me back before I could touch the door.

"Great," I snapped. "Then we both die in eleven. Move your arm."

"Julian, I'm not joking." Her eyes were locked on the black seam in the stone—the same spot where that thing's hand had punched through. "That thing doesn't talk. It doesn't bargain. It eats minds. Grom sent you here to fail."

"Yeah, I got the memo. 'Midnight or you get sacrificed.' Real motivating." I tapped her wrist, my voice dripping. "And yet, I'm still the only shrink in this hellhole. Unless you've got a better plan than standing here arguing?"

She didn't budge. Her heat was right there, pressing against me. Leather, cold steel, and that sharp, clean sweat she gets when she's terrified but too proud to admit it.

"You think this is a game?" she hissed. "The Hollow One isn't Grom. You can't flirt and psychoanalyze your way out of this."

"Who said anything about flirting?" I leaned in, just enough to feel her breath hitch. "You jealous, Commander?"

Her hand shot from my chest to my throat.