The air in the heart of Agnetha’s pocket dimension was thick with the scent of ozone and despair.

Laken stumbled forward, the echoes of Reed’s and Harold’s internal battles fading behind her as the corridor of shifting fears narrowed into a single, searingly bright path.

A pull, deep in her blood and bones, guided her steps. It was the same instinct that had drawn her to the ice, the same intuition that had helped her craft her first perfume—a primal, ...