Chapter 9 · Open It for Me

The door isn't a door.

It's a crack in the air, humming like a wire about to snap, and Marcus can smell rust and something worse coming through it. Blood, maybe. Or whatever passes for blood in a world that smells like it's been bleeding for a hundred years.

Cassian stands three feet behind him, close enough that Marcus can hear him breathing. Steady. Calm. Like he's done this a thousand times.

"You feel that?" Cassian's voice is almost friendly. "That pull in your chest? That's the fourth world. It wants you."

Marcus doesn't turn around. He's staring at the crack, watching the edges shimmer and twist. His hands are still shaking from the last jump. The shard of the lyre is warm in his pocket, and the weight of the repaired ice blade is gone. Left behind. Dissolved into whatever the hell this trial uses for currency.

"I'm not opening it for you," Marcus says.

Cassian laughs. It's a short, dry sound, like he expected that answer. "Then don't. Stand here. Wait. See how long the ice plain lasts without its core."

Marcus's jaw tightens. He knows Cassian's bluffing. Has to be. The blade is fixed. The world stabilized.