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The first boy was still coming, I realized. Visha’s attack had slowed him down but not stopped him. Not that he was moving with typical highblood speed, exactly. In fact, one might have even called him slow—at least, slow for a highblood. He rushed for Theo, and I sprang forward, daggers already drawn, as the boy swiped. Ducking beneath his arm, I jammed one blade up into his skull, then wrenched it sideways, listening to the sound of cartilage snapping. The boy spasmed, then dropped to the floor.

“That seemed to do the trick,” I said quietly.

Theo nodded tightly. Moving past me he went into the hall where the boy Blake had thrown against the wall was already starting to rise. Wood and bone crunched as Theo swung his chair leg down on the boy’s head. The body convulsed, then was still. We stood there, waiting, chests heaving.

“How many do you think there are?” Visha asked finally. “How many are infected?”

“And how did they get infected?” I added.

“They want to feed,” Blake observed. “They don’t seem to care from who. That must be how it starts, a bite.”

“They’re slow, too,” Theo noted. “At least, slow for highbloods.”

“About the same as a blightborn,” Visha agreed. “Which makes them easier for us to take down. Still hard for blightborn.”

I thought of Florence. She could still barely defend herself. Kage had ended their engagement. Now who would be there to stand by her side? “I need to go find Florence,” I said shortly.

“You’re not leaving this tower without me by your side.” Blake’s voice was iron. “Florence is House Avari. Kage will have things under control.”

“We don’t know that,” I snapped. “She could be all alone. She could be—”

“The girl has a fucking dragon,” he cut in. “She’s not defenseless. But if you go out there, alone …” He shook his head. “You’re staying here. We’re sticking together. No one goes out by themselves. That’s an order.” He looked back and forth between Theo and Visha. They nodded. “Now, we sweep every level of the tower. We knock on every door. We check every room. We count the healthy students. We find any who are infected.”

Visha interrupted. “And then? Do we kill them all? What if we can save them?”

We all looked at her.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Well?”

“I don’t know,” Blake said, his face weary.

Was I the only one who had noticed his eyes? The change was subtle. The dark crimson was almost mistakable for black when he stood in the shadows. But I knew what I’d seen.

“If they’re trying to actively attack us, we have no choice but to eliminate them.” He frowned. “But you make a good point. We’ll keep the injured in the infirmary under close supervision. Let’s begin. We’ll go door-to-door down the second floor hall first, then make our way there.” He glanced at me.“Medra, Florence will be all right.”

“You don’t know that,” I said bluntly. “You’re just hoping you’re right.”

“We’ll go to her as soon as we’ve secured the Drakharrow tower, I swear it. Until then, you’re by my side. Tell me you understand. Tell me you’ll listen.”

I bit back the questions I was burning to ask. Whatever he was hiding I would drag into the light later. I glanced at the clock on the wall—twenty minutes left. “For now.”

CHAPTER 27

FLORENCE

My heart pounded as I hurried down yet another hallway behind Kage, Regan’s limp form draped across his arms. Where was Medra? Had she gone back to our tower or to Drakharrow? If she was with Blake, I’d be less worried about her. Yet part of me hoped she’d be there in our room, waiting for me to get back.

I reached for Regan’s wrist, counting the throb of her pulse.

“How is she?” Kage asked, sounding tense.

“It’s faint, but it’s there,” I answered.

We turned a corner, and I froze. Here, curtains had been ripped down from the hallway windows. Someone had smashed the hanging lanterns off the wall. A small fire was burning in the spilled puddle of oil.

Kage’s jaw tightened.“Keep your eyes on my back, Shen. Move fast.”

I tried, I really did. Until a boy’s scream broke through the silence. Five paces ahead of us, in an alcove off to the side, a group of girls in torn purpleand-gold gowns crouched low over a supine blightborn boy. Their shoulders jerked. Their heads dipped and rose. They were feeding. The boy’s scream cracked, sliding into a gurgle.