Tessa’s palms were hot and slick. The smell of gunpowder and rust stung her nose. She blinked again and again, only then realizing her father was sprawled on the floor, writhing in a pool of his own blood.

The hairs on her arms stood on end.

She was back in that cursed room, watching her father choke on his own blood while the wound in his chest filled with the red liquid that kept spilling out. Her breath hitched. Her body locked up.

Suddenly a hand shoved her down to the floor, ...