Chapter 1

"Cristrae, you coming?" Jenna, her colleague with the perpetually cheerful voice, was already halfway inside the turf-roofed building. Nora waved her on, pretending to read a sign about medieval farming tools. The words blurred. Her heart hammered against her ribs like it was trying to break out.

She’d been having dreams. For weeks now. Flashes of a cold, dark hall, a fire pit, and a face she didn’t recognize. A man’s face, with eyes like winter ice. She’d wake up with her pillow soaked and her fingers aching as if she’d been gripping something hard. Her therapist called it stress. Her mother called it her imagination getting the better of her. But standing here, under a sky that seemed too close, Nora wondered if it was something else.

She wandered away from the group, down a path that curved around a small hill. The grass was damp and springy under her boots. The air smelled of moss and something metallic, like old iron. A fence line marked the edge of the excavation site, but beyond it, the land sloped into a valley filled with mist that hadn’t burned off despite the sun. Nora stopped at the fence, her fingers curling around the cold wire.

And then she saw him.

A man, standing in the mist. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with long hair that look dark as a raven’s wing. He wore a cloak the color of ash, and he was staring right at her. Nora’s breath caught. She knew that face. She’d never seen it before in her life, but she knew it, deep in her bones.

Her first thought: Is this a ghost?

But he moved, walking toward her with a steady, unhurried pace. The mist seemed to part around him, clinging to his boots. He was real. Too real. His face was sharp, with a strong jaw and cheekbones that could cut glass. His eyes—dear God, his eyes—were the exact shade of the inside of a glacier. Pale blue, almost white. And they were locked on her.

Christrae tried to step back, but her feet wouldn’t obey. “Who are you?” she whispered. The wind carried her voice away.

The man stopped a few feet from the fence. He didn’t speak. Instead, he raised his hand and pointed past her, toward the longhouse. Then he turned and walked into the mist, disappearing like he’d been painted out of the world.

Christrae's legs gave way. She grabbed the fence to stay upright, her heart slamming. She should run back to the group. She should tell Jenna she felt faint. Instead, she turned, obeying the silent command, and walked toward the longhouse.

The inside was dim, lit only by a few electric lanterns meant to simulate firelight. The ceiling was low, the walls soot-stained. A reconstructed sleeping bench ran along one wall, covered in furs. The air was heavy with the smell of hay and earth. And there, half-hidden in the shadows near the back wall, was a woman.

Christrae’s mother.

No. Not her mother—the hair was wrong, too long, braided with leather and beads. The clothes were plain wool. But the face… the face was the same. High forehead, crooked smile, eyes that crinkled at the corners. Nora’s mother was back in London, dealing with her arthritis and a pile of laundry. This woman was a stranger. Yet she looked at NoraChristrae with such recognition, such grief, that Christrae’s eyes burned.

“You shouldn’t be here,” the woman said. Her voice was low, accented in a way Christrae couldn’t place. “He’s waiting for you. He always waits.”

“Who?” Christrae’s mouth was dry. “The man in the mist?”

The woman didn’t answer. She reached out and touched Nora’s cheek—her fingers were cold, cold as the grave—and then she was gone. Just vanished, like smoke through a window. Christrae stumbled back, bumping into a wooden post. The lanterns flickered. The furs on the bench rustled as if something were moving beneath them.

Nora ran.

She burst out into the daylight, gasping. The group was nowhere in sight. The path twisted, and she followed it blindly, her mind a static scream. She didn’t stop until she reached the parking lot, where the crew bus sat empty. She leaned against the side of it, trying to breathe.

That’s where she found him again.

The man from the mist. He was leaning against the bus, arms crossed, looking at her like she was a puzzle he had finally solved. This close, she could see the lines on his face, the faint scar that ran from his temple to his jaw. He smelled of rain and ash.

“You’re alive,” he said. Not a question.

“Who are you?” Christrae forced the words out. “What do you want?”

He tilted his head. “My name is Kael. And you called me, Christrae. You’ve been calling me for year."

Ice slid down her spine. She hadn’t told anyone her name. Not here. Not in Iceland. “I don’t know you.”

“You will.” He smiled, and it wasn’t a kind smile. It was hungry. “You’re the key. The gate between life and after. You felt it the moment you landed, didn’t you? The pull. The dreams.” He pushed off the bus and stepped closer. “Your father knew. That’s why he sent you.”

“My father died before I was born.” The words came out sharp, defensive. “He can’t send me anything.”

Kael’s smile widened. “Can’t he? You saw his sister in the longhouse. She’s been guarding the path for thirty years. Waiting for you.”

Nora’s mind went blank. The woman—the one who looked like her mother—was her aunt? She had never heard of an aunt. Her mother never talked about her family beyond saying they were all gone.

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to. But you’ll come with me anyway.” Kael held out his hand. His palm was scarred, the calluses thick. “This is a choice, but it’s not really a choice. The path is open. If you stay here, the dreams will eat you alive. If you come with me, you might survive long enough to understand.”

Christrae looked at his hand. The wind picked up, cold and sharp. Somewhere far away, she heard her name being called—Jenna, probably, wondering where she’d gone. She could turn around. Walk back to the bus. Laugh this off as a stress-induced hallucination. Get on the plane, fly home, and never think about Iceland again.

But the dreams would come. She knew they would. And the face of that woman—her aunt—still burned behind her eyes.

“Where?” she asked.

Kael’s eyes glinted. “Somewhere you don’t know the rules yet.”

She took his hand.

The world folded.

It wasn’t painless. It felt like being pulled through a knot of cold water and fire at the same time. Her skin tingled, her ears popped, and then she was on her knees on a floor of packed earth. The air was thick with smoke. Torches flickered on stone walls. She was in a cave—no, a hall, enormous and shadowed. The ceiling vanished into darkness. And in the center of the room, a cage.

Iron bars, rusted and cold. Tall enough for a person to stand in. Wide enough for two. The door hung open, and inside, the floor was stained dark.

Christrae's heart stopped. “What is this?”

“Your new home,” Kael said from behind her. His voice was different now—harder, sharper. “You wanted the truth? The truth is that you’re a bridge between two worlds. The land of the living and the realm of spirits. And I am a soul hunter. I collect souls that cross the path before they wreak havoc.” He circled her, boots scraping the stone. “You’re the most dangerous one I’ve ever found. Too much life in you. Too much fire. So you’ll stay here until I figure out what to do with you.”

Christrae scrambled to her feet, backing toward the cage. “No. No, I didn’t agree to this.”

“You took my hand. That was agreement enough.”

The cage door swung, catching her arm and pulling her inside. She yelped, clawing at the bars, but they were slick. The door slammed shut with a clang that echoed through the hall. Kael stood on the other side, watching her.

“You’ll learn to fight,” he said. “Everyone does. And when you’re ready, you’ll stand before the arena. You’ll be worth something.”

Christrae’s breath came in ragged gasps. She shook the bars. They didn’t budge. “I’ll kill you.”

Kael laughed. It was a cold sound, like shattering ice. “I hope you do. But not yet.” He turned and walked away, his cloak swirling behind him.

And Christrae was alone in the dark, with only the memory of her father’s face—no, her aunt’s face—and the knowledge that she had just stepped into a nightmare she had been dreaming of her entire life.