Leo hissed. “You protect a sinner.”

“To protect our family. Our city. Killing her will start a war.”

A small, grim smile. “The war is already starting. And I’m not going to kill her, little brother. You are.”

The first thing Kate saw was the body.

The second Malchai was slumped across from the open door, black gore dripping down its front where its chest had been torn open, the shield of its ribs shattered. Kate crouched and picked up a shard of bone, slick but sharp in her fingers. It wasn’t a knife, but it would have to do.

She straightened, looked around: In one direction, beyond the warehouse’s open doors, the night waited, an empty dirt lot giving way to fields. In the other direction, slumped in a pool of light, knelt August. August, bruised and bleeding, smoke trailing from him like a dying fire. Someone was standing over him, and at first she thought it must be Sloan, but as she drew closer, she saw the Malchai’s body crumpled on the ground. And then she registered the new figure’s height, the breadth of his shoulders, the glint of light on fair hair, and realized it was Leo.

Relief flooded through her at the sight of August alive, and Sloan dead, but then Leo hauled his brother to his feet, and she saw the pain written on August’s bloody face, heard it threading through his broken voice as he pleaded with his brother, and tried to pull away.

Kate took a step back, and it must have been the blood-shined surface of the bone in her hand, or her movement against a still backdrop, but August’s eyes found hers in the dark, and even from the distance she could see them widen, not with relief, but fear.

An instant later, Leo’s head swiveled, too, his black eyes narrowing.

There was no kindness in that look. No mercy.

Kate stumbled backward and nearly fell over the body of the other Malchai as Leo let go of August and drew something from his coat. At first she thought it was a gun, the metal glinting in the pool of light, but then she saw.

It was an instrument. A flute, no bigger than his hands.

He raised it to his lips, and Kate drew in a breath, waiting for the music before she realized it was meant for her.

“Run!” shouted August, throwing himself at his brother.

The two went down on the concrete as Kate turned and sprinted out toward the night.

August was no match for Leo. He was too young, too hungry, handcuffed and broken, and the older Sunai threw him off and stormed out of the circle of light into the corridor. August struggled to his feet and surged after his brother with the last of his strength.

“Stop!” he called as Leo stepped out into the night. August stumbled after him, one knee buckling as he reached the doors. He dragged himself back up, but fell again as Leo lifted the flute to his lips, and played the first note.

A soft, sweet sound that whistled through the air like wind.

“No!” screamed August, trying to break the melody, but it was no use.

Kate was running, her hands up against her ears, but as soon as the music started, her steps faltered, slowed, stopped. Her hands slipped from her head, drifting calmly back to her sides.

“No.” August tried to stand again, but couldn’t. He knelt there, watching the red light drift to the surface of Kate’s skin as she turned back toward them, Leo’s music unmooring her soul and August’s mind at the same time. When Ilsa had hummed, he felt peace. But when Leo played, he felt like he was breaking apart, dissolving into darkness.

Which he was.

Somewhere beneath the heat and pain, he felt the scratch of a new mark, another day, four hundred and twenty-four, and none of it mattered because he was burning. Falling.

Kate’s lips moved, and as she drifted closer, he could hear the words. Her confession.

“. . . thought he was going to hurt me. I didn’t have to shoot him, but it seemed like the easiest thing to do . . . He could have been lying. I’ve forgotten what the truth looks like. I don’t know who to trust anymore. . . .”

“Let her go, Leo,” begged August. “Please.”

The Sunai stopped playing, and Kate stood there, a few paces away, her features lost beneath the blaze of light.

“Take her.”

“No.”

“Her soul is red.”

“No.”

“You, too, have sinned, little brother,” said Leo. “Sinned against your nature and against our cause.” His words forced their way into August’s fracturing mind. “You have such potential. Together, we will do great things. But first, you must atone. Now stand up.”

August rose, shaking, to his feet. Darkness curled around his body and drifted like steam from his limbs. The tally marks across his skin were fading one by one.

I am not a monster.

“Enough, little brother.”

I am not . . . his heart lurched in his chest.

“Give in to it.”

I am . . . he could feel himself crumbling.

“Embrace your true form,” ordered Leo, and his words rolled through August, sweeping away the last of his strength.

August knew that he was right, knew what he had to do.

He stopped fighting.

And as soon as he did, the pain dissolved, and the fire went out, and he fell down, down, down, into darkness.

Kate stood alone in the night, and felt . . . nothing.

No panic. No fear. Even when the music stopped, it kept playing in her head, twining with the light . . . the red light. . . . Did everyone have the same amount, like blood? There was so much of it. . . .