metal kit is in her hands, and when she opens it, I see the glint of a long syringe.
“I’m going to take its blood,” she signs to us. It’s so dark in here that I squint to make out the movements of her fingers. “When it turns around and sees you, do not attack it. Let it come.” She glances at Red. “To him.”
Jeran looks back at the Ghost. “Those chains don’t look stable enough,” he signs.
“I’ve been in here enough times,” Adena replies in silence. “Trust me.”
Now she steps closer to the Ghost. She moves with confidence, but I can see the slight stiffness in her shoulders, the nearly imperceptible tremor in her hands. She reaches the beast, then holds out the syringe toward the bones of its spine that jut out. We remain still, not daring to breathe as she approaches it. Beside me, Red’s emotions stir slightly, and through our link, I sense a rising tension in him that almost feels like anticipation. Like he wants to see this Ghost approach him.
Adena hesitates for a second—then injects the syringe deep into its spine and pulls a vial of blood from it as fast as she can.
The creature whirls. It moves so fast that at first I think it will catch Adena in its jaws.
Its eyes are still milky white like every Ghost I’ve ever seen, its teeth still long and bloody around its ruined mouth. But its scream is hoarse and liquid, like its throat has almost completely rotted away. I notice that one of its eyes is missing, and it only has two or three claws per hand.
That doesn’t stop it from lunging at Adena. Hate burns cold in its eyes.
Adena spins smoothly away, slicing back with her dagger as she goes. It cuts a long ribbon into the creature’s upper arm—a piece of flesh comes away from its body at the action. This Ghost is falling apart.
I realize that she’s trying to lead it toward Red. Jeran whips out one blade and spins forward, cutting the Ghost hard enough on its other arm to force it to turn. It bares its overgrown teeth at him, then lunges again. Like water, Adena moves out of its way and cuts it once more, bringing it closer to Red. The two of them work together in a seamless pattern of movement, goading the Ghost toward one, then the other, then finally close enough to where I’m poised with Red for it to sense his presence.
I tense. Somehow, in this darkness, I don’t remember that Red is the one beside me. Instead it’s Corian, still bent on one knee on the forest floor, paying his respects to the Ghost he had just killed, unaware that this will be one of his final moments. My blades are in my hands before I can think, and I take a step toward Red, baring the steel before me as if his life might depend on it. The logic in me struggles against the tide of my memories.
Hold back. This is not the forest. He is not Corian.
Beside me, Red stills. For an instant, I’m afraid he’ll transform right here in the cell. Or, worse, he won’t—and the Ghost’s chains will break and it’ll sink its teeth into him.
The Ghost reaches Red—its chains pulled taut, its arms stretched tight behind it—and it screams in frustration. At first, it doesn’t seem to treat him any differently from how it treats us. But when its milky eyes meet his, it halts. Its teeth are still bared, and it still glares at him with an inhuman curtain of fury—but instead of lunging, it continues to stare, tilting its head at him in confusion. A low growl rumbles at the base of its ruined throat.
To my horror, I can tell that Red has a strange kinship with this Ghost. I sense the surge of emotions from him—that he and this creature were both birthed from the same place, created from the same nightmare. Then I realize that this is how Red feels—there is an understanding that sparks between them, and whatever that is, it keeps the Ghost from attacking him.
The Ghost snaps out of its hesitation. It gnashes its teeth at Red, then turns away from him and shifts its attention toward me.
I’m ready for it. I yank out one of my knives and stab it into the Ghost’s arm before it can lunge at me. The creature screams. Unlike with Red, it looks at me with