Azrakar draped a shawl around Rosalinda’s trembling shoulders. Her fever had worsened, but he knew it was not weakness—it was transformation. Her body was adapting, absorbing fragments of the creatures’ power. She was becoming something more, though he dared not tell her.

He had kept the truth hidden: the creatures had already broken free, and nowhere was safe. For now, he would ward them off, even if it cost him everything.

Rosalinda sipped slowly from the bowl of soup he had prepared. ...