Wings are supposed to represent freedom, but it’s damn hard to fly in the middle of a supernatural freaking hurricane Though I’ve been diligently tackling my good old shitlist, the thing just keeps getting longer and longer. Story of my rotten life. Yelena’s attack on Breccan’s court and Nicarys’s demise by yours truly had left the already frail Shadow World a whole lot worse for wear. Patching up damages has always been a temporary solution at best, but with the landslide we’ve been riding for the past months turning into a churning roll, the entire demonic race is running out of time. As far as I’m concerned, the only thing worse than the looming deadline is attempting to meet it while trying to save my own damn life. Reiner hasn’t given up on his dream of draining my powers—he can’t, not with my Nechist heritage fuelling the feverish obsession that can only end in death. Mine. Or his. I’m adamant for the outcome to be option B. But when foes are formidable and allies few, the solution isn’t as easy as sinking a nice, sharp dagger between the ribs.