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“Allies?”
    This was it, her point of no return. If he was lulling her into providing her cooperation just so he could stab her in the back in front of the Keepers, she was stepping right into his trap. But she didn’t believe it was a ruse; she’d seen the desperation and loneliness in those cold gray eyes.
    But she also knew he wasn’t telling her everything. And if he was planning to betray her, she would fight back with every ounce of cunning she possessed.
    She slid her palm along his, only a thin layer of leather between them, their fingers curving, their grips tight. “Allies.”
    He squeezed her hand. “You’ll see me again soon.” And then he disappeared.
    Aislin looked down at her fingers, still warm from his, hoping she hadn’t just sealed her own doom. Then she pulled her phone from her pocket as it buzzed.
    It was Cavan, the Ferrys’ ambassador to the Lucinae, the beings responsible for transporting new souls from the Spring of Life into the human realm. His sculpted face appeared on her screen as she touched his name. “Aislin,” he said in a tight voice. “Can I schedule a meeting with you for this week?”
    “This week is rather inconvenient. Can’t it wait until our monthly meeting?”
    He shook his head, and from the way his eyes darted to the side, she could tell he wasn’t alone. “I really have to talk to you about something.”
    Her heart knocked against her ribs as she tapped out a text, one she hoped his companion couldn’t see. Are you safe?
    As soon as he read it, he laughed, but it was strained. “Yes. That’s not an issue.” His eyes met hers again. “But I’d be grateful if you’d make time.”
    Cavan was so dependably tactful, so calm and courteous even under pressure, that she wondered what could make him this jittery. “I’ll tell my assistant to make room on my schedule,” she said. “He’ll call you with a time.”
    Her ambassador gave her a relieved smile, even as his eyes flicked to the side once more. Aislin’s fingers curled around the phone. “And will you be coming to this meeting alone?”
    “Oh—yes. I’ll be alone.” His jaw tightened. “I should go. I don’t want to take up more of your time. But I’ll see you very soon—and thank you.” His handsome face disappeared from her screen.
    Aislin frowned as she slipped the phone back into her pocket. One more thing to add to her list of worries. Maybe it was good they would be meeting in the next few days—she could tell Cavan about Moros’s siblings, a warning he could take to the Lucinae. But she would also be on her guard; after what had happened with Trevor, the Ker who infiltrated Psychopomps and helped Rylan escape, she needed to be ready for anything.
    “Ms. Ferry?”
    Aislin turned to see the wide-eyed face of one of her guards, a distant cousin, peering at her from the Veil through the circular window of his Scope. “What’s wrong?”
    He opened his mouth to speak, then let out a wrenching scream, his Scope falling from his hands and landing, still open, on the floor.
    Aislin staggered back as Rylan appeared in front of her, his fingers dripping with blood. He leaned over, picked up the guard’s Scope, compacted it, and tossed it. The disk landed on her desk and spun on its edge.
    “Hello, Aislin,” her brother said, wiping his bloody hands on the upholstery of a nearby chair. “I thought it was time we had a talk, just the two of us.”

CHAPTER THREE
    T he moment Moros stepped through the Veil and into his sisters’ domain, he knew he was running out of time. The fabric of fate hung from its massive frame, yawning rips and tears scattered along its shimmering expanse, millions of stray threads dangling loose, a few sections dangling to the travertine floor as if carelessly sliced away.
    “Welcome back, brother,” said a hard voice. “I hope you’ve been off having fun.”
    Moros turned to see Atropos glaring at him, her black hair dull beneath the glittering complexity of