Between the rushing air, the flying grit, and the panic whipping through my body, I swore I heard a whispered laugh. Dead Ica, or ghost Ica, or whatever form she took apparently wanted the last word. Her role as Two had literally been crushed out of existence, and now there would be hell to pay.

The farther Ica dragged me down, the tighter my chest clenched. The air had grown thinner in the dark, constricted tunnel she sucked me into until my lungs held my last breath. Once ...