How is it that I'm still searching for people I love?
"It'll be easier if you dismount first," Samrael adds, since I'm still not moving.
I jump down and land with a jarring thud, my teeth slamming together.
Every part of me feels leaden. Cold. Hard.
Samrael, on the other hand, dismounts with fluid ease. He pats the mare's rump. "Home," he says. She trots away, her gray coat disappearing into the fog.
Samrael paces away slowly, staring at the ground. He stops. He comes down on his heels and brushes dirt and leaves aside, revealing an iron handle. A wooden door is set flush to the forest floor.
Out here.
I'd never have found it in these woods. Not in a million years. I'd never have even expected to find it.
I walk over, fear seeping through my faded mind as I remember falling through the ground in the haunting with Gideon.
The iron hardware groans as Samrael lifts the trapdoor, leaves and dirt tumbling off. The earth exhales a cool breath that brushes across my cheeks. It smells musty, like wet stone, and faintly of decay.
"There are Harrows all over this area," he explains. A torch flickers below. Its light pours up uneven stone steps. "We use secret entrances, a different one every time. Otherwise they'd wait in ambush and we'd never be able to leave-or return."
He offers his hand to help me down. I don't take it.
I pull in a breath and step down.
It feels like descending into literal doom. The air wilts in my lungs. Sounds flatten. The steps are so narrow I have to turn my feet sideways.
At the bottom, a long corridor stretches before me. Stone walls. Stone floors and ceiling. Lamps at regular distances create small pools of light, breaking the overwhelming darkness. The flames wave wildly as Samrael shuts the door, then stretch tall again.
"Straight ahead."
Is he kidding? There's nowhere to go except straight ahead.
As we walk I become conscious of Samrael's nearness behind me-which is odd. I've shared a saddle with him for hours. But here there's nowhere for me to run, and a scream would go nowhere.
Who would I call for help, anyway? Harrows?
I think of the knife in my backpack. In my mind, I practice how I'll use it if my fears come true.
Why am I afraid? He needs me to leave the Rift. Hurting me wouldn't help him get what he wants.
The silence bears down on me, a weight pressing on my ears. It's more oppressive than the damp air or the darkness. "Why do you want to leave here? I thought this was what you wanted. To come into this place."
"It was," he replies behind me. "This is what Ra'om forced me to want. But I've changed. There is no finding peace or fulfillment here. Being here is a continuous trial. Perhaps you've noticed that yourself."
I have noticed, but I don't want to talk about me. "Why did you spare Bas when the two of you first came into the Rift?"
"We don't need to discuss this now. There's plenty of time for it later."
"I want to discuss it now."
"The easiest answer to communicate is curiosity. I've known many humans. Few are as guileless and good."
His answer is uttered with a trace of frustration.
"You spared his life because you found him interesting?"
"I saved his life. He was sick when he first came through. He needed care for weeks. He never blamed me during that time. He never complained about his situation. Rather, he made the best of it. I thought him a fool at first. Simple. Ignorant. This was how I used to think. Then, one day, I realized he'd become indispensable to me. At a time when I'd lost everything, he cheered me."
My mind shoots to Shadow-she was the same for me. Thinking of her, of how far away from me she is, makes my heart race. Much too fast. I feel a panic attack coming on. My lungs start to shut down like a city power grid. I can't breathe fast enough to get the air I need.
The world tilts. I walk into the wall like a drunk. Cling to it like it's the edge of a cliff.
"Daryn, are you all right?" Samrael rushes forward. "Can I help?"
I shake my head. "Just need … a moment."
"Take as long as you need." Samrael leans against the wall and watches me, his brow furrowed in concern. I focus on breathing. Relaxing and breathing and convincing my body that everything is okay.
When the panic finally leaves me, I straighten.
"I wondered when it would hit you," Samrael says. "I am sorry for your pain."
"He's not dead!" I snap. "Don't make it sound like he's gone!" I exhale a shaky breath, hating that he saw me in such a pathetic moment. "And why do you care? Why would you be sorry? You hate him."
He shakes his head. "I didn't mean to imply that. And I don't hate him, either. He thought me evil, which was true. If there is any feeling in me, it's envy. Gideon never yielded to Ra'om as I did. I'll always have to live with my own cowardice." As I listen, I search for false notes in his voice. Search for lies hidden in his green eyes.