There’s a click to my left as a door opens, and Leon steps out onto his balcony. He takes one look at my expression, and his own transforms with sympathy and understanding. Reaching into a pocket, he pulls out a flask. Unscrewing the top, he reachs out across the space between us to hand it over to me.

“I think we could both use a nip or three of this,” he says.

Accepting it, I take a generous swig before handing it back.

“I’m scared, Ash. I’ve looked forward to this my whole life, but I’m terrified.”

I tear my eyes away from the thin sliver of waning moon just emerging from behind a swath of clouds to look at him.

“You’re going to make it through. And if you don’t, I’ll go back through myself, to whatever else is on the other side, and I’ll find you.”

He smiles sadly. “Of course you will, Miss. A toast to that, then. To everything working out, no matter what.” He raises the flask, taking another draw. Then he holds it out again to me.

“No matter what.” I drink. The whiskey burns my throat, adding fuel to the fire stoked by that first shot.

“Do you think you’ll be ok? Seeing E.J. so often?” He looks out at the sea as he asks, tone carefully casual. I shrug.

“She’s busy with Umbratech. I doubt she’ll even be here all that often.”

His lips twist in a crooked frown, but he says nothing. For a long time, we’re both silent.

“Would you like me to come over there? Is there anything I can do for you? You could feed.”

I laugh, a sad, choked sound. “You don’t have to be on duty all the time, Leon. I want you to enjoy your night.”

“You know I love serving you, Ashwyn.”

I shift uncomfortably. “You love other things too. There’s hardly anyone else here. You could probably work on your music, if you wanted—”

But he chuckles, shaking his head. “I don’t have much to work with here, and it’ll take time to get a decent setup. If this is going to be my last night, I don’t want it to be tainted by bad acoustics.”

“It’s not—”

“I’m sorry,” he cuts in, smiling sadly now. ”I didn’t mean to say you were wrong, earlier.”

“Don’t apologize. You know you can tell me anything.”

“I know,” he says, gaze wandering back to the sea. “Thank you, Miss. Ash. I—” he hesistates. “I appreciate what we have. More than you might realize.”

I smile, reaching across the gap between balconies to squeeze his arm.

Sometimes I forget that what we have means as much to him as it does to me. Serving, caretaking—it’s what he loves. And when his father finally passed from the sickness he’d nursed him through for years, he’d been alone. Adrift, with no one to take care of and no one to care for him. Until he met me.

“You know I’d be a mess without you. And even if that weren’t true, I don’t want to go back to not having you in my life. You’re the greatest. Really.” I choke up a bit on the last few words, forcing myself to leave it at that. I don’t want him to feel like I think he’s going to die, too.

We spend hours like that, talking and drinking out on our adjacent balconies. Watching the moon and clouds travel across the sky.

After a while, I drift into sleep still curled up on the rough outdoor rug, the quilt I’d snatched from inside an hour or so before wrapped loosely around my shoulders. Sometime later, I feel strong arms lifting me up, and Leon’s signature silk-and-brandy scent envelopes me. After depositing me carefully in bed and pulling the sheets and quilt up to my chin, he pads out of the room.

~*~

The sun’s just edging towards the horizon when people begin to arrive. It hasn’t rained all day, and it’s looking like we’ll have a clear night as well. As I wait, I spend my time moving back and forth between the comfortable furniture of the indoor common area and the fresh air of the wrap-around deck beyond it.

Gradually, the space fills up with others—potential students and Umbran teachers alike. The air both inside and out fills with the sounds of laughter and talk. The energy is high, the tension of excitment and fear like electricity permeating the air.

About half an hour into the arrivals, Chef starts wheeling out carts of drinking glasses, water kegs, coffee, guava juice and refreshments. But once the sun turns pink and begins to bleed into the sea, the offerings change. Before long, almost everyone’s availing themselves of the mead, wine, and cocktails on offer. I nurse my mojito as I watch and listen to the others, Leon by my side but otherwise keeping to myself.

“Go and mingle. Please,” I say to him after a while, squeezing his arm. “You don’t have to keep me company. I could use the alone time, actually.”

His brows knit together, lips turning down briefly before his eyes flash to the others and back to me, hesistant. Then he smiles and inclines his head. “As you wish, Miss.”

I lean back on my little outdoor couch and bring my drink to my lips. A new group pours out onto the deck. Then the wind shifts, and I nearly drop my glass.

All of my senses reorient themselves, seeking out the source of the intoxicating scent that’s washing over me. The single most tempting, delicious scent I’ve ever encountered. It’s intermingled with another I recognize immediately. Beatrice’s.

My veins run cold. No.

“Ashwyn!” My name rings from her lips the instant she lays eyes on me, and then she’s on her way over. At her side, a young woman in a hover chair keeps pace. She’s frail but beautiful, With moon-white skin and dark auburn hair that’s shaved short on the left side of her head and falls past her shoulders on the right. She also happens to be the source of the scent that’s silently torturing me. “Ash, it’s so good to see you!” Beatrice pauses, searching my eyes. “Didn’t E.J. tell you I was in the first group too?”

I shake my head.

“Oh.” She frowns, then shrugs—clearly too keyed up to dwell on it. “Well, this is my friend from college, Lorelei. I’ve always thought you’d love her, she’s a fabulous musician. And now we all get to be classmates together!”

Lorelei winces, then smiles—but her eyes go wide as they meet my golden ones. Beatrice grins and mouths “They’ll explain later.”

After looking from me to Beatrice and back, the woman shrugs, her easy smile returning. “You can call me Lore,” she says, reaching out to grasp my hand. I force a smile, fighting to hold my hand steady as I clasp, shake, and release hers.

There’s a sudden intake of breath, and we both look over at Beatrice. “Oh my spirits!” she glances excitedly back and forth between us. “We can have a sleep-over.”

Lorelei rolls her eyes before grinning over at me. I swallow, smiling back. Trying not to breathe too much. I don’t know which instinct is harder to fight—the predatory one sparked by Lore, or the protective one for Bee. I want to lunge on Lore and feed. I want to grab my friend by the shoulders and shake her. Drop to my knees and beg her not to go through the Gate. It’s bad enough facing the possible loss of Leon. But Beatrice, too?

The thirst is rising quick as wildfire. Burning my throat. I glance over at Leon, chatting away happily with a group of recent arrivals, and I can’t bring myself to interrupt him. Besides, I’ve already fed once today, and I don’t want to weaken him further.

I consider going to the kitchen and asking Chef for a blood packet, but decide against it. I’m too used to feeding fresh now. To living blood. At this point the frozen stuff will hardly take the edge off my cravings.

And I used to wonder why E.J. never let me drink from her even after I got myself under control. Now I’m pretty sure I understand.

Devoid of other decent options, I decide to put distance between myself and the others until I have a chance to calm down. I’m surprised when I round the corner of the house to find a pair of dragon-stag spirit shells flanking the main entrance. I suppose I assumed the Lodge wouldn’t have any. Neither of E.J.’s houses did.

“Good evening,” one of them greets me in a low, musical voice. I sit down on the stair between them and pull out my vape.

“Hello,” I say. “How are you?”

~*~

I only have about a quarter of an hour to collect myself before a horn blares from the main deck. Boon bobs anxiously over my left shoulder, but I bat my hand at the air between us before he can say anything. “I know, I know. I’m going.”

I find a place for myself at the back of the crowd, as far away from Lore as I can get—pretending not to see Beatrice as she tries to wave me over to them. And though I now hold the same glass of sparkling wine as everyone else, I can’t help but feel like I don’t belong here.

The roar of chatter quiets somewhat as E.J. steps up onto a raised level of the deck at the head of it all. When she puts both her hands up, palms facing outward, an immediate hush falls over us.

“Thank you all for coming,” she says, Somi hovering in front of her lips to amplify her voice. “And welcome to The Nameless Isles. Welcome home.”

At the responding uproar of whoops and cheering, my free hand shoots up to cover my left ear as I try to bury the other against my shoulder.

“Many of you waited years for this day. Some, a decade or more. I thank you for your patience. For your faith in us. In whatever it is you managed to contribute to the effort, however modest. You are the reason we are all here.” There’s more yelling and more applause as my sense of unbelonging deepens. E.J. grins, a bolt straight to my heart.

“On the night I went through the gate, the university director told us that once we did, all of us that made it through were family. Forever. That Umbra was thick as blood. But I’m not going to repeat his words here tonight, because they aren’t true.”

She pauses, and there’s some quiet murmuring at that. But everyone goes silent again as she continues. “Experiences make family. Choices makes family. And tonight, you have all chosen to be here. Tonight, you all face the same dangers—and the same new horizons. So, let’s all raise our glasses together—“

Seventy-something hands with glasses raise into the air.

“And drink. To the family we choose. To the horizons ahead. To you.”

Another uproar. I lift my glass, but avoid catching anyone’s eye as the clinking begins. When I take my drink, it’s a long one.

I’m never going to feel like one of them. I don’t belong here. I—

“And before I cede the remaining hours ‘till midnight to more unstructured consumption, I have another toast to propose.” Her eyes fix on me. Necks crane and twist to follow her gaze, and I nearly buckle under the avalanche of unexpected attention.“To Ashwyn Fleetwood, who arrived last night to brave passage on her own in the final round of readiness tests, and made it through the Gate as our first Reaper.”

I smile, hoping it looks natural, and force myself not to cover my ears again as everyone showers me with undeserved fanfare and knocks back their drinks. After that, the real party begins.

Not trusting myself to get entirely drunk under the circumstances, I do my best to seem like I’m having a good time in what might be my final hours with some of my dearest friends. Every moment I spend in Lore’s presence is pain, but I endure it to be with Beatrice. Eventually, Leon joins us and—reading me like a book—drags me away to privacy and convinces me to feed.

I don’t take much. It’s easy not to, with him. It’s not that he tastes bad, exactly. Just unremarkable. It’s part of the reason he’s perfect for this. It’s not enough to kill my craving entirely, but it takes the edge off. Enough to where I feel safe. Enough to have a few more drinks. By the time the horn blares again, I’ve cultivated a decent buzz and eaten entirely too much.

This time when E.J. steps up onto the raised platform, an immediate hush falls over the crowd. It’s full dark out, or at least—it is to most of the others. A new moon, with only stars to light the sky.

Bringing up her right arm, E.J. raises an elegant lantern hanging from a silver ring. With her free hand she twists some unseen knob, and it comes to life—glowing violet. Then she turns and, stepping down from the dais, walks away. Off across the deck and to a stair leading down into the moss and stones. The other Umbrans already in attendance—our teachers, I assume—fall into step behind her. Then, with some hesitation, the rest of us trail after.

Leon waits at the edges of the gathering procession until he sees me, then swoops up to my side. He offers his arm, and I take it—not sure whether I want to smile at him or cry. For what feels like the twentieth time today, I stifle the sudden, small flare of Umbral power the emotion sparks. But I can’t help but wonder just how long I can make it before something breaks through my walls.

The path up to the Gate is long and winding, and there’s a sacred feeling to our procession as we walk. No one dares speak. Off in the trees, a few birds occasionally call out into night, but otherwise the only sound is that of trees whispering in the wind.

As I begin to recognize our surroundings, panic grips me like a fist around my heart, and I have to remind myself to breathe.

No thoughts but darkness. No feelings but calm.

The next thing I know we’re marching out onto that prow-like projection of stone that I remember all too well, and the monolith of the gate looms before us, deactivated—its doorway the same solid stone as the rest of it. E.J. Stands before it, and the other Umbrans, four in total, array themselves to either side of her. An image of my mother’s face flashes before my eyes, and I blink hard to banish it, curling my hands into fists so tight that my nails cut into my palms. The pain helps to clear my mind.

Producing a silver knife, E.J. cuts into the flesh of her upper forearm, dips one finger in the sudden swell of blood, and etches the activation sigil onto the blank stone at the heart of the gate. Radiant darkness flares to life from that point outward, spreading to form a shadowy doorway.

“My friends, my family. Tonight, you stand at a parting of paths. And though it’s your choices that have brought you this far, from this point forward,” she flings out a hand to indicate the glowing black portal, “it is the path that chooses you. No matter what you might have convinced yourself, what you might have read or heard—there is nothing you can do to influence the outcome of the crossing. But until you do cross this point, the choice remains yours. I beg you, don’t take that choice for granted. If you have any doubt in your heart—any whatsoever—it is your right to turn back, and anyone who says anything against you for it will answer to me.”

Her eyes range from person to person as she entreats the crowd. No one moves. She takes a deep a breath and steps to the side.

“The choice is yours,” she repeats.

The first one to cross is a young woman I recognize vaguely from back when I was still going to the Lock and Key. She steps through, and we hold our collective breath and wait. Nothing happens. A few people in the crowd begin to cry. The second person—one I don’t know at all—hesitates for almost half a minute before stepping through. They don’t emerge either. The third looks like he might vomit. He turns just before he reaches the gateway and runs off to the bushes to do just that.

The fourth person to step up is Beatrice.