Page 219 of Harbinger

I have.

I know where to put my feet without looking.

My blade scrapes along his ribs and tears through his uniform. Not deep. But enough.

He stops smiling.

I dodge his next strike easily, but as I twist away from him, he catches my arm with his free hand. Patterns of silver light erupt over the skin above his wrist—where a vestige hadn’t existed a minute before.

And ice shoots up my arm.

Not the cold of touching iron in winter. The cold of touching death. It races from his fingertips up through my shoulder, and the muscles in my arm slacken like dead weight.

Frozen.

My grip on the sword nearly fails.

I jerk away, my arm sluggish and numb.

He grins.

“Heart collector,” he says as if it’s a job title. As if he’s introducing himself at a party.

“You’re the one killing all those people,” I accuse, switching the sword to my left hand. Fighting with my left is worse. Much worse. But since my right is currently a slab of meat hanging off my shoulder …

“Some of them,” he sneers. “Want to hear the gory details?”

Not even a little bit.

“Why leave the vestiges?” I demand, trying to buy myself a little more time to recover.

“That wasn’t me.” He almost sounds disappointed. “I would never leave magic behind. Not when a cycle might finally begin. We’re all collecting power, hoping it will. Many of us have stopped hiding these days.”

So much for that theory.

“I’d love to chat,” I bite out, “but I have scheduling conflicts.”

I need to reach my family. Laurel didn’t take the antidote. Stars know what she’s telling them right now, if she even went back. What’s the point if they’re all going to die …

No. I’m not letting that happen.

I roll under his guard and go for his hip. My sword connects, slicing deep.

But he’s still a scion, and I’m still me. He recovers in half a breath. Closes the distance and reaches for me.

This time, he gets a fistful of my collar.

Cold paralyzes my neck before I can scream.

It floods down to my chest, and my knees buckle. I hit moss, sword scattering into the leaves. My back hits the ground. The air rushes from my lungs.

He hovers over me, silhouetted by the high moon. “This is the part where most people start crying.”

“Fuck you,” I say instead.

I won’t cry in front of a man like him.

He lifts his sword—