The quiet after Ted disappeared down the corridor pressed in around her. Wet cotton.

  Frankie sat on the cold metal floor of the safe room. Her arms wrapped around her knees. The chill from the deck plates seeped through her shorts.

  A few feet away, Damon slumped against the wall. His head tilted at an odd angle. His hair hung over his forehead, matted with dried blood from where he’d hit the pipe earlier.

  His breath came in shallow gasps. The amber glow in his eyes pulsed brighter. Dimmer. Brighter again.

  He was losing.

  Frankie stared at him. She wanted to reach out. To shake him. To scream at him to fight harder. But her limbs refused to move. Her fingers pressed white against her kneecaps.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  The words came out small. Broken.

  Damon’s fingers twitched against the floor. His jaw clenched. Tendons in his neck stood out like cables.

  For a second—one second—the amber receded. His eyes cleared. Brown. Warm. Human.

  The eyes she’d seen laughing at her terrible jokes in the dorm common room.

  His eyes went wide. His lip trembled.

  His mouth opened. He mouthed her name.

  Frankie.

  No sound came out.

  Then the light died.

  The amber surged. Swallowed the brown completely. His face went slack. Empty. Like someone had cut the strings holding him upright.

  He stood.

  No leverage. No push. Like a wire pulled him up.

  Frankie scrambled backward until her spine hit the door frame. Her breath came in sharp bursts. The metal edge dug into her back.

  Damon turned to face her.

  His eyes burned solid amber. No flicker. The light held steady. Alien.

  He smiled.

  Not Damon’s easy grin. This smile stretched too wide. It split his face. His lips pulled back farther than lips should go.

  He cocked his head. Studied her like a cat watching a mouse in the corner.

  She couldn’t breathe.

  “Damon?” Her voice cracked. “Please—”

  He moved.

  One step. Two. He closed the distance. His sneakers made no sound on the metal floor.

  Frankie pressed harder against the door. Sweat slicked her hands. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. The safe room had become a cage.

  He stopped inches from her.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Light flickered behind his irises. Flames dancing in amber glass. She smelled the salt on his skin. The blood crusted at his hairline. The copper scent made her stomach turn.

  His hand lifted. Touched her cheek.

  His fingers were ice cold.

  She flinched. Her head pressed back against the door.

  He traced the line of her jaw with one fingertip. Almost gentle. The touch burned with cold.

  Her stomach lurched.

  “Frankie.”

  Damon’s voice. Damon’s inflection. The same cadence he used when he was about to tease her.

  But the thing behind those eyes was not him.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. Tears leaked down her cheeks. Warm trails through the grime on her face.

  “Look at me.”

  The command slid through her mind. No sound. Something deeper. Pressure building before a migraine.

  Her eyes opened against her will. Her eyelids betrayed her.

  He smiled wider.

  “Good.”

  His hand dropped from her face. The cold lingered on her skin. He turned away.

  He walked to the door they’d barricaded. The one Ted had reinforced with metal pipes. A mess of pipes crisscrossed the frame.

  Damon braced his feet. Drew his fist back. Shoulders rolled.

  Frankie opened her mouth to scream.

  He punched through the door.

  Dust exploded.

  Metal shrieked. The frame buckled. Bolts tore free from the wall with explosive pops. His fist punched through the steel. The pipes bent outward.

  He grabbed the edge of the hole. Yanked.

  The door ripped from its hinges. Metal scraped against metal. The screech echoed down the corridor.

  He tossed the door aside. It crashed into the far wall with a boom. Then clattered to the floor in a twisted heap.

  The corridor beyond stretched dark and empty. Water dripped somewhere in the distance.

  Damon stepped through the opening. His sneakers crunched on broken glass. The sound sharp. Deliberate.

  Vondra stepped out of the dark.

  Her dress of living flame writhed. Shifting orange light cast across the walls. Shadows danced around her. Her skinless face tilted toward him. Muscles pulled into a smile. Exposed tissue glistened wet and raw.

  Damon walked to her side.

  Stood there. Still. Silent. His arms hung loosely at his sides.

  Her perfect soldier.

  She raised one raw hand. Placed it on his shoulder. Her fingers left dark smudges on his shirt.

  “Mine,” her voice crackled. “Strong.”

  Frankie sagged against the wall. Her legs gave out. She slid to the floor, landing hard on her knees. Pain shot up through her thighs.

  The fight drained out of her.

  Dee Dee was gone. Ted was somewhere in the dark. Damon was lost. Standing right there in front of her, but more gone than if he’d died.

  She’d failed.

  The tears came harder. Her body shook with sobs she couldn’t contain. They tore out of her chest in ragged gasps.

  Three friends. She’d brought three friends onto this ship. And she’d lost them. One by one. Picked off while she stood by and watched.

  Her fault.

  Her stupid, reckless idea. Her obsession. Her need to leave town on a daring boat trip.

  Her chest tightened. Each breath came shallow and painful.

  Cold crept through the floor. Seeped into her bones through her wet shorts.

  She curled onto her side. Pulled her knees to her chest. The metal floor pressed against her ribs.

  The ship creaked around her. Metal groaning. Water lapping against the hull somewhere far below. Rhythmic. Uncaring.

  She closed her eyes.

  Waited until the end.

  Footsteps receded down the corridor. Vondra and her new puppet returning to the shadows. The orange glow faded. Leaving only darkness.

  The room went quiet.

  Frankie’s breathing slowed. Her sobs quieted to hitching gasps. Then to nothing.

  Let them come. Let the spectral crew drag her down. She didn’t care anymore.

  She stopped fighting.

  A presence settled beside her.

  She flinched. Drew in a sharp breath. Her eyes snapped open.

  But no icy fingers grabbed her. No hollow voices demanded she rise.

  Instead, a soft pressure touched her temple. Light. Warm. Sunlight through a window.

  A voice drifted through her mind. Young. Gentle.

  Female.

  “Do not let her feed on your grief.”