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They’re trembling.

So are mine.

“Your hands are like ice,” I say, my voice unsteady. I tighten my fingers around his. “I’ve got to get you out of here.”

His eyes widen.

“Boone, you need to go.”

“What?”

“Run, Boone!”

He glances over my shoulder so quickly that another surge of unease moves through me.

“Please.”

I frown. “Not without you.”

“Boone—”

“No. I’m not leaving you!”

His grip tightens painfully around my fingers.

“There’s someone here.”

The fear in his voice silences me. My father doesn’t frighten easily. I’ve seen him work through illness, hunger, and a winter harsh enough to leave both of us wondering whether we’d survive until spring. I’ve watched him laugh in the face of setbacks that would have broken most people.

I’ve never seen him look like this.

His eyes dart toward the dark corridor behind me.

“Get out while you still can.”

The words send a chill racing down my spine. I open my mouth to ask what he’s talking about.

I never get the chance.

A large hand lands heavily on my shoulder.

The force jerks me backward so suddenly that my father’s fingers are torn from mine.

I spin.

And come face-to-face with the man who lives inside the castle.

6

Rhys

I don’t know why my home is suddenly crawling with strangers, but I know I don’t like it.

The irritation that’s been building since I found the old man intensifies with every step I take toward the tower. My castle has always been predictable. Quiet. The corridors remain exactly as I leave them. The doors stay closed. The clocks continue their endless ticking. Nothing changes unless I decide it should. That’s the way I’ve lived for twelve years. I see no reason to alter a routine that has served me perfectly well.

Then I step through the doorway and find another trespasser standing outside the cell.

My patience finally snaps.