Chapter 7 · The Fourth Lock

"Pick a voice, Lena. Mine—or hers."

Cade's hand clamped around the spear jutting through his side. Blood slipped between his fingers and pattered onto the stone. The third spirit lock in his palm pulsed hard enough to shake his wrist.

Behind us, dead soldiers clawed their way out of the broken floor.

I grabbed Cade's coat and shoved him toward the archive doors. "I'm picking neither. Move."

"That wasn't one of the choices."

"Get used to disappointment."

The soldiers charged.

Cade slammed his shoulder into the bronze doors. They opened three inches, then snapped shut against his back. His face tightened. The spear had gone deep. Every breath dragged a fresh line of red down his shirt.

I pressed my palm to the lock plate.

Spellwork crawled under my skin, sharp and hot.

"Lena." Cade's voice dropped. "The hunters are coming."

"I hear them."

Boots pounded somewhere beyond the corridor. Too many. The brand under my collarbone flared, answering the hunters like a beacon.

The archive doors flashed silver.

Runes crawled across the bronze. I knew the pattern.