The city roared around Ashe. His senses were overwhelmed, his mind flat, and yet it was the most comfortable he’d felt since the sands. Since Leanor.

  That feeling of falling, the one where he expected another step down the stairs, but it never came. A lurch. His stomach dropping as his weight pitched forward into empty space. The memories that flashed through his mind were only reminders of what had happened, sand gritting between his teeth, each one telling him he had failed. Even if he knew it wasn’t his fault.

  Ashe touched the bumps that formed a pulsing collar around his neck, a leash in all but name, and shuddered at the warmth.

  Leanor was a god, Ashe knew he could never escape. Never hide. But the city made it feel more possible.

  Somehow he hoped the sounds, the bodies, the heartbeats could hide his fear beneath it all. A siren whooshed past, wheels spinning, the smell of burning rubber pushing by Ashe in a thick plume. That noise was all he needed, a faint hope, something to cling to.

  Then, like a candle in the dark, a pungent smell broke through his senses. A portal. Purple.

  Ashe turned, walking stick in hand, and without thinking, without letting his mind catch up, he followed it. He realized he’d been holding his breath since the scent hit, and forced air back in. This was the first portal he’d found since the sands.

  Before he knew it, one bead in the pulsing collar at the base of his throat throbbed louder, as if speaking to him. His body reacted before he could think, before he could wonder what it meant. He sidestepped and picked up the pace.

  Ashe wasn’t thinking, but he was moving. Weaving through the streets, the smell of different perfumes washed past him in a blur. The sound of steps whizzed by in a monotone stream as he darted forward.

  A new sense. A new feeling.

  When his feet stopped, he tightened his grip on the walking stick and stood there expecting his breath to turn ragged, expecting the taste of blood to fill his mouth. But it never came. His heart was as steady as it had been before the run.

  He pressed a hand to his chest. It still rose. He put his palm to his forehead. Nothing. He had always been prone to sweating, and yet now, in the summer heat of Florida. Nada.

  Another step. The void.

  Ashe’s stomach lurched, and the sounds of the city vanished behind the veil. A distant memory.

  Ashe’s feet landed. The ground was soft. Muddy. He dragged in two rapid breaths and scrunched his nose as the smell hit him like a wall, rotting fish, sharp as ammonia gone sour. His stomach tried to shove up what little he had left, but Ashe bit down on his tongue and kept his lips pressed tight, forcing it down. He pushed the nausea aside and let his senses sharpen instead, what he could hear, what he could feel.

  Water under his feet splattered, then echoed around him. A cave, maybe. He muttered and dropped to his knees, left hand outstretched. His fingers brushed the floor and he recoiled fast. The water wasn’t water. It was thicker, the stink of ammonia heavy in the liquid.

  He wiped his hand on his pants and kept moving, hoping the smell would fade. It didn’t.

  But the air did change, the stillness vanishing with a strong breeze. The collar at his neck pricked, warning him before he heard anything. One bead in the pulsing collar throbbed, loud in his mind. He turned and clacked the walking stick.

  Then a wet sound. A gurgle. Something slammed into his sword arm, dead weight dragging it down, and his sword clattered to the ground.

  Warmth spread through his chest, not the warmth of the portal healing him, but something else. Deeper. Like a good night’s sleep, he felt more alert, stronger than before. He didn’t have time to understand it when a sharp pain flared behind him. His sword was on the floor.

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  A second bead flared along the collar, the pulse shifting fast. He turned, arm outstretched as he moved. His hand wrapped around the neck of something before he knew what was happening. A low growl, spit running down his hand as he slammed it into the wall. A loud thud. A growl. Another thud. Then another, until the sounds blurred and the growls vanished.

  The scene sharpened. The same warmth filled him. Then his hands went limp as control returned, his mind back under his own command. The sound of the creature lying limp on the ground filled his head.

  He felt sick, not from the death or the blood, but from the fact that he didn’t know what was happening to him, what he was doing, or who was controlling him.

  He dropped to his knees as his mind blurred, a memory of something pressing against him, pushing its way in. Overwhelming his senses and making the cave vanish.

  “Keor. Watch out. Above.” The sound was clear. Jovial, as if it was a game.

  It was Diaggo.

  “Hands up,” Diaggo said quickly, his laugh bright, too loud for the dark.

  Then silence. Too long. Too quiet.

  It shattered. In the memory, Keor hit the floor, and Ashe felt it like it was his own body. He felt the borrowed hands fly to the stomach, and laughter burst from Keor’s mouth before he could stop it.

  “This isn’t a game.” The words came out angry, but there was a faint edge of amusement under them.

  “It is,” Diaggo said, softer now, closer. “Just one you don’t get to lose.”

  The memory was gone before Ashe could figure out what it meant.

  He still wasn’t used to it. The flood of information, followed by nothingness. Unnatural. But he knew it wasn’t going away.

  Ashe rolled to his feet and brushed off what he could, but the tar-like substance clung to him, along with the smell. He shook his head. “Typical.”

  He walked to where his sword lay and reached down. His hand searched the floor and brushed fur, soft, plump. Small. For a second he wondered what it was.

  He didn’t care. Not enough.

  His fingers closed around the sword’s hilt and he pulled it free. Then he turned and followed the breeze.

  Voices grew louder as his steps quickened. For a second he let himself hope it was another herald, that there was still a chance. But the thought never solidified as the voices shifted, sharpening into words he didn’t know.

  Alien. One of the other species.

  He let out a sigh, and then froze.

  They’d noticed him.

  For a beat no one moved. The air held, even with the breeze, and the silence tightened around the sound of his own breathing.

  His neck pulsed, loud in the silence. His body moved without him once more. The creatures before him launched into action, shouting in that alien tongue, and somehow he understood the commands, like something had unlocked inside him.

  A voice in his head cut in, sharp and certain: “Take left!”

  The command hit and he moved. He was on the left before they could react, sword outstretched. It made contact.

  A cry, loud. Screeching. It pierced the air like a comet in the night sky. Ashe didn’t slow, didn’t reach for his ears even if he wanted to.

  Then his sword stopped. Locked. Stuck, as if muscles had formed around it.

  The Draken creature.

  He let the sword slip from his hands, jumped upward, using the blade lodged in the creature as a springboard. Before he knew it his arms were around the creature’s neck and he was squeezing, muscles tensing with more strength than should have been possible.

  An enemy voice barked from behind him: “Get him.”

  Behind him. His back exposed.

  A pulse. Something sharp clipped his leg, pain flaring hot up the muscle. He clamped down harder, squeezed, and leaned sideways. The Draken swerved as he threw his weight down. Then another Draken lunged from behind him, shouting, and drove its weapon into its ally instead of making contact with Ashe.

  Ashe felt the Draken’s neck writhe in pain, its throat trying to force sound out.

  Nothing.

  Then silence and he tumbled to the floor. Ashe flung from the Draken’s back like a fly from a horse. But Ashe was moving before he hit the ground, feet steady beneath him.

  He should have grown more tired as he fought. But it never came. With each new enemy, his body felt just as light as it had at the start, just as fresh, even as their bodies hit the ground with dull thuds. He never needed the portal healing.

  When it was finished and the points from the portal filled the air, Ashe ignored them.

  The ground vanished, and the streets returned. Ejected again.