Chapter 8 · The Twelfth Sister

"Get behind me, Mara. Now!"

Cael didn't just shout—he shoved. His palm slammed into her shoulder, pinning her hard against the freezing stone of the archive wall.

Around them, the puppets didn't charge. They didn't even scream. Hundreds of them just stood there, heads tilted at the same unnatural, broken angle. Then came the sound: a wet, synchronized drone that made the skin on Mara's neck crawl.

"Sister..." they whispered. "Sister... come home."

Mara's breath hitched. She clawed at the rough fabric of Cael's cloak, trying to peer around him. "What do they mean? I don't—I don't have any siblings left."

"They aren't talking about your family tree, idiot," Cael snapped. His sword hummed, sweeping in a wide, lethal arc to keep the gray tide back. His eyes were bloodshot, haunted. "They're recognizing a frequency. Yours. You aren't just a warden, Mara. You're the signal."

"I'm a trainee!" she yelled, her voice cracking. "I can't even ring a bell without shaking!"

"Then stop shaking and start thinking."

He stepped closer, his body a wall of heat between her and the sea of gray skin. He was so close she could smell ozone and old blood.