DAMON’S SHADOWThe news didn't come with a shout or a trumpet blast. It came in a low murmur, a series of hushed whispers that moved through the camp like a cold draft. I was sitting by the small fire pit near the healers' tent, trying to keep my hands from shaking. Every time I thought about what Finn had told me—about the silver in Demetrius’s blood—it felt like a weight was pressing down on my chest.

Finn approached me again, but this time his face wasn't just tired. It was pale. He ...