It felt as though he had died. Reed remembered neither the delirium nor those rare moments when his consciousness returned. He did not know who had found him near the Hall of Repose, where he had been taken, or what had been done to him. A red haze clouded his vision, and his memory held only terrifying nausea and a fever that seemed to burn him from the inside out. His entire body was racked with pain, trembling as if the whole world was about to shatter. But he was the only thing shattering. Each new surge of the crimson tide, carrying pain, was worse than the last, and Reed drowned a little deeper every time.

  Reed remembered people speaking to him, but he recognized neither faces nor voices, and he could not answer. The words rattled in his head, but his body had betrayed him, refusing to obey and perform such a simple, familiar task. He alone knew those words. Then, he remembered what he wanted to say, but the moment his eyes closed, the red tide washed everything away, and Reed forgot even his own name. Sometimes he even managed to open his mouth, but instead of words, he spewed another mouthful of blood and plunged back into the darkness, which no longer brought any peace.

  He was trapped on the edge between peace and pain, unable to fully experience either. Nothing felt important, necessary, or even remotely stirring to him anymore. The advisor slipped from his mind, the prince turned into a shapeless blot smudging his memory, and his life became a dream. Meredith remained somewhere behind like a distant fantasy he had never even had. Even the fact that he had poisoned himself ceased to matter, for he had absolutely no memory of why he did it. The agony choked his body and mind, and Reed screamed. Or at least he thought he was screaming.

  As the agony peaked and life drained from him along with his blood, he begged the Mother to end this torment. Reed screamed, pleading with the only one who could hear even silent prayers. She heard his pain and saw his tears, yet refused to grant him mercy. Her grace was a mere dream, and Reed had not even earned that much. All he was left with was brutal agony, the frantic pounding of his heart in his ears, breathlessness, and a fury that surged from nowhere. He burned in both body and mind, though he could not fathom why. Had the Mother shown him even the slightest favor, he would have died long ago. Perhaps that was the source of his rage, or perhaps it was simply his mind crumbling within the flames that consumed his body.

  Sometimes he saw light, and sometimes nothing at all. The world lost its shape. At some point, a thought surfaced in his tormented mind: what if Haderat had already dragged him into the Darkness? What if this searing pain, piercing him with thousands of needles, was the Darkness itself, the distilled essence of his entire existence? After all, Reed had brought nothing but pain and suffering to the world, painting this horrifying masterpiece with blood and stolen lives.

  The picture of his life was now finally complete. No one would give the artist a standing ovation. This painting could not be hung in a home to soothe the eye. It could only be buried deep in the ground so that no one would ever remember it. This foul-smelling landscape, soaked in dirt and violence, would be claimed by worms. Soon, even the Mother would forget it had ever truly existed.

  Reed was willing to accept even that, so long as the pain stopped tearing him apart. If that was the price for peace and long-awaited relief, it was not the steepest price he could have paid. But no one was asking for payment.

  As the crimson tide receded once again, Reed managed to open his eyes. The bright light seared his vision as though he were seeing it for the very first time. He wanted to shield his face with his hand but could not force his body to move. His flesh was weak, and his will no stronger. Someone was muttering nearby. As Reed finally began to distinguish the voices, his memory stirred, though he still could not recall who was speaking.

  A hand touched his cheek, turned his head to the left, and peeled back his swollen eyelid.

  "Alive," the voice stated flatly. The touch vanished, and Reed felt a fresh wave of nausea, but he did not retch. He had absolutely no idea where he was or who sat beside him. Fear stirred in his mind, seeming like the greatest gift. Reed had known nothing but pain for so long that fear felt like the mercy of the Mother herself. The darkness released its embrace, thrusting Reed back out. It meant he was still alive.

  The urge to flee washed over him. Uncertainty, helplessness, and weakness stirred a rising panic in his soul. With great effort, Reed rolled onto his side and tried to stand, yet he knew full well it would be a long time before he could truly rise again.

  Unfamiliar hands caught him, forcing him back onto that vast and terrible altar of pain, but the torture did not resume. It merely throbbed somewhere deep inside, finding no escape. Reed let out a ragged breath, and it left a metallic taste in his mouth. Someone hoisted him up, forced his jaws apart, and made him swallow something foul and bitter. Then they let go, leaving Reed to brace for the next crimson tide, which was now delayed for some reason.

  "Will he live?" asked another voice, one already more familiar.

  "...should," the second one broke off mid-sentence. "...ready... better."

  They were talking, but the noise became a cacophony, irritating Reed’s ears. It was blending into an incomprehensible jumble of words that Reed no longer understood. Fury seized him again, but it was no longer as agonizing as before. Reed tensed and tried to open his eyes again, but he lost that battle too. The voices did not subside, but Reed had long since stopped hearing anything. The darkness finally granted him peace.

  The first conscious awakening felt like a slap in the face. Reed could have sworn that, in all his fifty-six years, nothing had ever struck him like that. His head throbbed, and the now-familiar taste of metal lingered in his mouth. It seemed he would never be able to wash it away and would smell of blood until the day he died.

  Reed was afraid to move, afraid to feel that piercing helplessness again. First, he moved a finger, then his palm, and then he brought his hand to his face and touched it. His face was swollen and covered in sweat. He probably looked terrible. On the other hand, since when had he ever cared? Stretching his lips into a smirk, Reed felt his muscles tense uncomfortably.

  It was dark, and Reed did not recognize anything around him. Perhaps the poison had damaged his brain, or perhaps he had never been in this room before. Across from his bed, there was a large window revealing the stars. Reed lay there listening to his body, his heart, and his heavy breathing, pondering the legend he had once told Meredith. The Mother would never weep for him, and her tears would never become stars. His plea had not moved Her, though Reed had been ready for a long time. Clearly, She had already abandoned him. Deep down, he desired death, and when it came so close only to slip away, Reed felt cheated. It was a strange feeling. In any other situation, he would never have admitted to himself that he wanted to die. Life had no meaning, and he had almost found peace, but peace would not accept him because Reed himself was the very embodiment of chaos.

  How much longer would he have to wander the world, spill blood, and convince himself that he could not stop? How many more contracts would he have to take, hoping that this one would surely be the last? When he would finally be lucky enough to find a final resting place in some nameless grave? How much longer would he lie to everyone around him, trying only to deceive himself? There were no answers, and Reed did not want to look for them. He simply wanted the race to end. And now that such a clear realization had come to him, he did not know what to do with it.

  He was still looking at the stars when tears trailed down his swollen cheeks, vanishing into his hair. His face was contorted. Reed had never experienced such hatred before.

  ***

  Morning burst into his consciousness violently. Footsteps and voices echoed all around. Some were even familiar. Reed struggled to open his eyes. He was in the infirmary. Servants scurried about, and the air smelled of herbs. Reed lay on a narrow bed covered with a black blanket. His eyes were unaccustomed to such bright light, aching. He wanted to squeeze them shut. When he adjusted a little, he saw Adrian nearby, and his surprise was as great as his displeasure.

  "Everyone thought you were going to kick the bucket," Adrian tried to joke, but it fell flat.

  Reed grumbled something under his breath and then answered more clearly, "Fuck you."

  Adrian chuckled but suddenly turned serious.

  "The prince went feral while you were resting here," he spoke softly, leaning over. Reed could barely make out the words but understood the general gist, though piecing together Adrian's face was still difficult. "He ordered a healer to be brought from the city. Unofficially, of course. You were bleeding so profusely that I even wondered how you had so much blood in you. That herbalist did some magic here, brewed things, fed you all sorts of slop, and then he just gave up and vanished."

  "A good slop, then?" Reed closed his eyes, either because the light was too bright or because he was tired of Adrian's face.

  "Well, at least you didn't die. That’s a win." Adrian hesitated, but Reed was too exhausted to notice the meaningful pause. "And Rene was executed this morning."

  "What?" Reed even opened his eyes to see if the ghoul was mocking him.

  "Arne proved she was involved in some matters. Salvat didn’t return from the hunt, and while everyone was running around, the Captain found you in a pool of blood near the Hall of Repose. Arden finally listened to Arne. They sat in the council chamber for a long time, and late at night Rene was detained. They interrogated for about four days, but she hardly said a word. In her shoes, I’d have even remembered the Descent of the Three. This morning, while you were wasting away here, they hanged her."

  "Why are you telling me this?" Reed asked wearily, turning away.

  "Well, you know… in case you were interested."

  "I don’t give a fuck." A weary sigh escaped Reed’s lips. His nose felt wet, and that familiar metallic smell returned. A thin stream of blood ran down his cheek. Adrian jumped, shouted something, and then the tide came again.

  ***

  Reed only felt better after a full Moon. It was as if Reed were learning to walk and be alive all over again. Any physical exertion caused dizziness and nausea. He barely ate and could hardly drink. When Reed got better, he left the infirmary, but he was still too weak to continue what he had started. The fact neither pleased nor upset him. He simply did not care.

  With every tide, he waited for a peace that never came. When the effects of karida finally stopped altogether, he became indifferent. It was as if these tides had washed the life out of him. Or perhaps it was just the weakness. Reed slept a lot and spoke to no one. Everything around him was as dull as his tired face, which still felt like a stranger's. When he looked in the mirror, he found fewer and fewer familiar features, though his appearance had hardly changed, only his hair had grown longer. His eyes were as empty as he was. The hemorrhaging made his gaze gruesome. Reed did not understand how he had come to this.

  Finally, he found the strength to see Arne. The prince was somber and quite displeased, though logically he should have been happy. Rene and Salvat were dead, and Arne had more ways to achieve his goals now. Arne should have been exultant instead of grumbling. So why was he not happy? Reed did not care about the answer to that question or the reasons for Arne's dark mood. Reed sat before him in the now-familiar room and stared in front of him silently.

  "How did it happen?" Arne asked as he studied Reed closely. Reed flinched and glanced at the prince as if he had momentarily forgotten where he was.

  Reed shrugged.

  "I don’t remember."

  "How so?"

  "Just like that. I don’t remember anything. Only taking Rene to the cellar and then nothing."

  In reality, Reed remembered drinking both the antidote and the poison. He remembered reaching the Hall of Repose and falling right onto the floor. He remembered the pain and his own helplessness, but those were not the memories Arne was waiting for.

  The prince rubbed the bridge of his nose and exhaled heavily.

  "They hanged her," Arne said.

  "I know."

  "I’m sorry I didn’t make it in time." Arne looked at Reed. Like he truly was sorry.

  There was something singular in that look, and Reed did not know how to respond. He just smiled faintly. His parched lip cracked, but Reed quickly licked away the blood.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  "You did what you could. What happened before the execution?"

  "Salvat didn’t return from the hunt," Arne began. He jumped up and started pacing the room, and it annoyed Reed. Now he had to follow Arne with his gaze. "Arden put everyone on high alert and sent men to search. The horse returned with the body by evening. Salvat died spectacularly. I made sure all the leads led to Rene. Salvat had her vial. He suffered from migraines and drank her brews every morning, so I only had to guide the King in the right direction. Finally, he listened to me and linked all three deaths together. That night Rene was taken into custody and interrogated. Of course, she swore she was innocent, but who would confess?"

  "Indeed," Reed answered quietly. The mask of indifference on his face flickered but did not break.

  "Two bodies and one about to die. She went too far. I wouldn’t have confessed either. When they hanged her, they didn’t even grant her the Gray Chambers. They just sent her body to her family. You were dying, which meant you couldn’t testify, but everything was clear enough. I’m actually surprised you didn’t notice the catch."

  "I told you already. It’s possible to hide karida’s scent," Reed said, staring at his hands indifferently. How much more blood would wash over them before he earned his death? Arne truly regretted what had happened, while Reed regretted nothing. He was just tired.

  "That’s what I thought," Arne nodded. "I called a healer from the city. He confirmed you were poisoned with karida. It was a dose so high that you shouldn’t have survived at all."

  A tense silence fell. Reed stayed silent as Arne waited for some kind of reaction. But Reed was not ready to waste energy on expectations. A chill ran through his body, making him shudder.

  "Thank you, but I gotta go. I’m tired," Reed said, casting an exhausted look at Arne. He was not lying.

  "Go. By the King's order you have some time off."

  "What does that mean?" Reed suddenly grew animated.

  "You can go home and recover. You’ll return by the end of the summer."

  "A good idea," he muttered, barely audible. The words fell from his lips but held no importance or meaning, scattering across the room like empty scraps of paper. "A very good idea indeed. But I’ll return sooner."

  "As you wish."

  Without saying goodbye, Reed left. The latest news gave him strength, but it did not change much. The only thing that offered comfort was the upcoming meeting with Meredith, but what would she say when she saw him like this? What would he tell her when she began to ask questions? He would have to lie again, and that made him hate himself even more.

  ***

  Reed left the castle the next morning. He thought of nothing and regretted. The gallows where Rene had met her last dawn still stood conspicuously in the middle of the castle's main square. Even though Reed had not been there, it felt as though he could still hear the cries of the crowd and her weeping. But Reed felt no shame. He cast a fleeting glance at the gallows and turned away. She deserved it. And so did he. Rene was involved in the deaths that had forced Reed to dig graves in the Maple Garden, and she had decided that someone else's life was worth less than her own. When Salvat had given her a choice, Rene had valued herself more.

  However, Reed did not judge her for that, as he himself set the price for the lives of others. He was neither better nor more valuable than she was. He was just like her, and in some ways, he deserved the gallows even more than she did. But he was not ashamed of his deeds. If Rene had been in his place, she would have done the same. Reed had simply managed to outplay her, just as he had outplayed Salvat, Arne, and even himself.

  He chuckled and spurred his horse. A slight nausea returned, but Reed was already used to it. Over time, the bouts of nausea became less frequent, and he felt better. Reed was sure he could endure the journey to Maró. Yes, the it would take more time, but did that really matter?

  Reed rode slowly as his head was spinning constantly. Once he even vomited, but there was no blood. As he was riding through the city, he remained in his armor and bronze cloak. His status bought him certain privileges. After resting in a tavern until a wave of weakness passed, he moved on. On his way out of Eisen, he turned off the main road toward an abandoned shack that Maró’s people used as a cache. In Bradenmain, the Council would seize an ownerless house, while in Forfield, no one cared. Therefore, mages used such places to hide their less valuable belongings.

  Breaking the floorboard turned out to be a much more difficult task than it had seemed. Reed’s hands were barely obeying him, and his pulse throbbed loudly in his ears. After a while, he was drenched in sweat, but he had his old armor. It was excellent and familiar armor that restored his identity, if only for a short time. He threw off the annoying and heavy guard garments and stuffed everything into a bag, yet he did not dare leave it in the abandoned house. Questions would be asked at the castle later if the armor were stolen. When the last straps on his neck were tightened, Reed exhaled heavily and collapsed onto the floor, clutching his head in his hands. He did not want to see Maró. He did not want to return to the castle either. He only wished to see Meredith, but seeing her without seeing Maró was impossible.

  He ran his fingers through his hair and began rocking from side to side, as if that could help balance all the doubts and fears that were now rioting in his head. His body and mind had become his greatest enemies, and Reed had no weapons to defend himself. So, he simply sat and tried to soothe himself with monotonous movements. It probably looked strange. At that thought, Reed laughed. He still had a clear and infectious laugh. It was a laugh that had become a luxury he almost never possessed. Yet this very luxury was laced with pain and despair. He laughed at himself, the prince, fate, and death itself. This grim and filthy reality took so much that, at some point, there was nothing left to give. He was left with only laughter, which was one of the few riches Reed had not yet sold to fate.

  Finally, Reed found enough resolve to stand up. He was unsteady, and his lips cracked, letting out drops of blood. He nervously licked them away and caught his breath. Grabbing the bag with the guard armor, he headed toward his horse and set off again. The cool spring air blew against his face, and he almost felt like his old self. Solitude was pleasant and healing. As it turned out, Reed had not fully understood how tired he was of the castle and all the kreyghars who scurried there like spiders in a jar.

  He only arrived by noon the next day. Reed stopped often, lying in the fresh and cool grass, looking up at the sky and wondering why the Mother had not heard him. On the other hand, he had never seriously believed in her. Perhaps that was one of the many reasons for her anger.

  The camp had not undergone any major changes. An unfamiliar kreyghar met him at the entrance. Reed introduced himself listlessly, and they let him through. He left his horse and ran into Hans. The boy stared strangely for a while until Reed rolled his eyes.

  "You look like a walking corpse."

  "I feel like one too," Reed grunted. "If you’re done, take me to the mage. I’m not here for a fair, so do your job."

  Hans remained silent and cast one last worried glance at Reed before beckoning him to follow. Soon, Reed sat in the now-familiar room. As it turned out, he really was tired. Just sitting and relaxing was one of the greatest joys. Maró watched him gloomily, and Reed even thought the Maró looked displeased. Of course, he had not expected Reed to survive this job at all. Reed smiled as he watched Maró’s sour face.

  "Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked brazenly.

  "Are you alright?"

  "Nothing to complain about. I did what you asked. Salvat is dead."

  Maró’s eyes widened. Even Tallis, who usually never missed an opportunity to needle him, was staring at Reed in shock. Raymund coughed loudly and looked up from his papers to listen in.

  "How?"

  "How?" Reed asked with a chuckle. "From what I heard, very spectacularly. I didn’t see it myself."

  "So did you kill him or not?"

  "In the flesh. I cut the saddle straps before the hunt. The horse split his head open like a ripe pumpkin. Then it came back as if nothing had happened, with his corpse still hanging in the saddle. When they found him, I was a bit busy and didn’t have time to see it for myself."

  Iris gasped quietly. He shot a quick glance at her and gave a barely perceptible wink. Still surprised, she returned a faint smile.

  "Were you exposed?" Tallis interjected.

  "Why would I be?"

  "Well, you look like you’re about to drop dead."

  "There’s a different reason for that," Reed dismissed her and turned back to Maró. "You owe me. Or you already forgotten?"

  "Fine, your payment is already here."

  Reed nodded indifferently and fell silent. After a while, he spoke again, "I know who your man in the castle is."

  If Reed had felt better, he certainly would have laughed while looking at Maró. He had never seen such obvious and sincere surprise.

  "How did you find out?"

  "He found me. You’re dealing with a very dangerous player without even knowing it. Be on your guard."

  "Was it him who...?"

  "No, it was another person, but that no longer matters. She has paid the gallows a visit."

  "Who is he?"

  "I won’t tell you," Reed replied. "I can’t. If you want to topple the King, you need to know that he sees the outcome of the story differently. He said so himself. He trusts me, and that might be to your advantage when the time comes."

  "You suggest such things and yet you can’t say who he is?" Maró grimaced.

  "Uh-huh," Reed nodded. "I will continue my work in the castle and help you finish what was started, but I can’t reveal certain details. He would find out. As you said yourself, he’ll find you himself if he wants to. I’m not getting involved in that. Just think about how powerful a person must be to smuggle a hired killer of questionable origin into the castle without raising any suspicion. None at all. He didn’t do it for you, but because it was to his advantage. He holds a lot of power, yet he remains in the shadows. You would not even notice him if you met him on the street. I’m not even sure if he gave me his real name, but he knew everything about me. Do you understand? He knew my real name."

  Despite his exhaustion, Reed took the next step. Maró had to believe that Reed was entirely on his side, just as Arne did, while Reed was on only one side: his own. To Maró, he was merely an expendable asset to be discarded. Same as Arne, though the prince did not show it as clearly and even tried to hide it.

  Both would eliminate Reed if it became profitable. Matters like these left no room for leniency, and Reed had no intention of playing along. If the stakes were death, then one had to know how to play dirty. Maró had considered himself the smartest person in the room from the start, lying and concealing vital details. Such as the true reasons for Salvat's murder, of which Reed was still not certain. Reed did not fully trust either Arne or Maró, so he gathered his own fragments of truth that had yet to form a complete picture for him.

  Maró studied Reed with interest. Reed was not lying, but he was not telling the whole truth either. He said only what was necessary to convince the mage that Reed was on his side. Reed had warned him of the danger and agreed to keep working, taking the responsibility upon himself once again, and so the stage was set. But the final act would belong not to Maró and Arne, but to Reed himself. He deliberately led both to believe he was on their side, and his goal was as plain as a penny. When the whole scheme began to fall apart, Reed would be able to choose either side.

  Reed was preparing the ground to twist the situation in his favor at the right time. If Maró came out on top, Reed would leave everything as it was and claim he had deliberately wormed his way into Arne’s trust. If Arne won, he would say he was spying on Maró and saw no point in playing his trump cards early. Only one question remained open. The prince said they saw the finale differently. Arne desired his father’s throne, but what did Maró desire? Simply overthrowing the government and leaving the throne to the people would be foolish. Kreyghars are like a flock, and they need a shepherd. Reed suspected that Maró was aiming for the role of usurper, which was exactly why such a finale would not suit Arne, as it would mean the prince’s death. Reed had come to this conclusion the moment Arne first offered him an alliance. This conclusion was simple, and only a fool would believe otherwise.

  "Do you think he’s doing all this for himself?" Maró finally spoke up.

  "Yeah. You’re walking on thin ice, and it’s already cracking. You won’t be able to fight the current beneath it if you’re not ready."

  "What do you want in return for your help?"

  "Were you even listening to me?" Reed exhaled wearily. He rolled his eyes and spoke slowly, as if talking to a total idiot. "I don’t need money, just one small favor."

  "What is it?" The mage’s expression grew even darker.

  "It’s not particularly difficult, so you won’t overexert yourself. Let’s say, once I need shelter or help, and you won’t refuse me."

  "Is it really that cliché?"

  "Yep," Reed replied. "I plan to continue my business in Emeron, and it’d be convenient for me to have a way to survive when things go tits up."

  "Unless you kill the Blessed One," Maró joked gloomily.

  Reed gave a nasty smile and raised his eyebrows meaningfully, and then stated with pleasure, "Once was enough for me."

  "What?" Tallis managed to ask before Maró could.

  "You heard me." Nausea suddenly hit him. Reed took a heavy breath, trying to settle his rebelling stomach. "It was a long time ago, and he deserved it."

  "It was about ten years ago, eh?" Raymund interjected.

  "I don’t remember," Reed brushed it off, only to suddenly realize he had been caught out.

  "Really? And why did you kill him?"

  "I was just angry. He was such a fucking bastard. Killing him shouldn’t have even taken as a crime."

  "And you cut off his hands." This was not a question but a statement of fact, and Reed decided not to deny it any longer, merely nodding in silence.

  Raymund gave a triumphant grunt and crossed his arms over his chest.

  "Right after the execution of the mages at the square?" Tallis leaned forward, studying Reed with interest. And Reed was already anticipating the coming agony and could do nothing to stop it. Heat began to spread through his body.

  "You’ve heard of it, then?" he managed to choke out, barely breathing.

  "Of course! Raymund and I are from Argain. They discussed that story for a long time, wondering who it could’ve been. They blamed the mages, and we thought it was a call to action. Then we found Maró, and that is how the Order of the Elements began."

  As she spoke, Reed was thinking. He had been angry with Tallis and had goaded her, but for some reason, he had not considered that she was a victim too. Like Meredith. Her personality had suffered the same distortions as his own. Thinking about this, he felt a sting of shame.

  "They blamed the mages because it was convenient. To say that an icon of faith was killed by a common thug would be like admitting their guard had no balls. Their own citizens would’ve torn them apart," Reed finally explained, watching Tallis’s face darken. Disappointment pooled in her eyes. She looked like a deceived child.

  Raymund and Maró remained silent, weighing Reed down with their gazes, but they did not rush to strike him or press for more. They simply watched. So, Reed caught his breath and continued.

  "I didn’t know they would use it to intensify the hunt. As for cutting off the hands... well, yes, it was a message, but I didn’t even know how it’d turn out. For that, they sent me to Belden."

  "And you said you hadn’t been to Bradenmain," Raymund said but without malice.

  Yet Reed still shot him a murderous look all the same.

  "What was I supposed to say? I did enough in Bradenmain, and you kept pestering me with questions about the Wasps. How could I know why you were so itchy about that?"

  "I saw them sending you to Belden," Raymund explained. "Tallis didn’t believe it was you."

  "So what?"

  "Then why did you kill him?" Tallis beat Raymund to the question, her lips trembling as if she were ready to burst into tears at any moment.

  "I told you," Reed answered softly, staring at the surface of the table. "I was angry. I saw the hunt, then the execution. And the Blessed One was... just there. One of those to blame. Killing him was easy. Escaping was the hard part. That’s why I came here when Hans gave me that note and you put two arrows in my back."

  "And where did you get the Wasp mark?"

  "Working." Reed twitched his cheek in annoyance. He did not want to share details of his past, but he did not want to continue the subject either, so he had to give in. "Like I’m now in the castle. A cover. I’m one of the reasons the Wasps are no longer..."

  He did not finish. His head spun, and a wave of heat surged. Reed jumped up, took a couple of steps, and then suddenly grabbed the table. Blood ran down his lips. His insides were burning as pain pulsed in every cell of his body, and the world began to sway.

  "You good?" Maró asked when Reed managed to straighten up slightly.

  He could not answer. Instead of words, blood gushed from Reed’s mouth. The last person Reed saw before falling out of reality was Iris rushing toward him.