Darlene Emery threw her chair across the room, a thunderous expression on her face. The Sins’ letter sat on the desk. William’s hand; she knew his penmanship at a glance. Written in his own blood, it almost felt as if the man was standing right there in the room with her. Twelve years since she’d last seen her brother-in-law in person, but the mere memory of him terrified her.

  As much as she hated to admit it, William could always seize a room in a way Thomas never could, and her husband hadn’t been some snivelling, weak-minded creature. It was just that William had presence.

  She growled in frustration and read the letter for what was probably the twentieth time.

  “Severity has opened. And yet the Emerys have not upheld their end of the contract. Oceania changes by the day because of your ineptitude. The d?mons are still held at bay. The Sins do not stand for this—I do not stand for this. You ruin the family name! And I will not have it! Make it right! Or I will give the Leviath leave to intervene.”

  She let it go, watching as it fell to the mahogany, then kicked the side of the old family desk as hard as she could. She swore at the pain, shutting her eyes until it ebbed away into a dull throb. What made it worse was that William was clearly speaking of things Thomas never told her about. Or, at least, never in great detail.

  The little she did know, the parts of the letter that stood out to her, worried her. I will be forced to intervene. Building Camp Twelve all these years had served as a welcome distraction. But it turned out, the boundaries of the camp had done its job a little too well. They’d forgotten what lies beyond. What the Sins of Man were currently doing across the globe.

  She hadn’t thought of that group in years and therein lay the mistake. Staying on that path could quickly become deadly. The Sins had managed to do what they’d set out to do all those years ago. Centuries ago. And that fact alone terrified her. It would terrify anyone. She didn’t wish for ignorance, but she would be lying if she said she didn’t envy Evie’s naivety.

  The Leviath itself had paid her a visit, and still she showed no interest in coming home. In learning about the Emerys’ history and promises. Unlike her sons, Leo in particular, who had shown interest in their history, she was perfectly content to live in her ignorance.

  The Sins had broken the world. They’d toppled countries, dismantled governments. They’d ended society itself. And worst of all, they’d invited d?mons into the world. How could she possibly contend against all of that?

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  She walked over to the ornate fireplace, gilded in a deliberate faded gold, and stared up at the picture on the mantel. A portrait of Thomas Emery, her deceased husband. She stared at it, her face void of all emotion except for the slightest narrowing of her eyes.

  “This is your fault,” she says softly. “This is all your fault.”

  She took a deep breath, walking back to the oriel window behind the large desk. The view of the endless farmland unfolded before her, citizens currently engaged in their work rounds moving through the endless rows, ploughing, trimming, watering.

  For a long time, this window had always reminded her of what they’d managed to accomplish. But now? Now, the weight of knowing there were Sins in the camp pressed on her. Thomas had grown content with this camp, had grown small-minded over the years, a disease that had very clearly infected her, as well.

  And then there was what Evie had said. The Leviath’s remark about the Dreamhold. Was that where Thomas had gotten the idea? From the Sins? She had always been against that building, but of course, he’d never listened.

  Pitiful excuse of a Dreamhold, Evie had said. What did it mean?

  A feeling she hadn’t contemplated in years came back to her now.

  Thomas had been a blood descendant of the Emerys. She’d only married into the family. They’d been nothing but accepting, sensing her greatness, her loyalty. She’d always believed she’d make them more proud than Thomas ever did, than Eve did. Eve, who continued to waste and squander her lineage.

  No, there was only one thing to do. She sighed out some of her tension and turned back to the desk. From the middle drawer on the left side of the desk, she pulled out a small stack of writing paper before she went back to Thomas’s portrait.

  Inside the framed photograph, behind the wooden covering at the back, she removed a small bone-white key, shaped like a feather, its vane stained blood red. Lighter than air and stronger than tungsten, Thomas had once said.

  He’d gone on and on about how the material wasn’t from this world, and though she hadn’t believed him then, she did now. How could she not? They’d brought d?mons to Earth!

  There was only a slight tremor in her hands as she took the key back to the desk. From the bottom right drawer, she took out a medium-sized leather chest. At the very top of the chest, right in the middle of its rectangle-shaped lid, was the keyhole.

  She slid the key in. A series of metallic clicks sounded before the lid lifted slightly. She opened it the rest of the way, revealing the brass instruments within. A metal pen with a clear glass vial running down the middle. Having seen Thomas use it once, she knew exactly what it was for.

  The vial was clean and empty. She took one of the twenty brass tips, a thin, sharp needle protruding from it. Not giving herself the chance to reconsider, she stabbed it into her left thumb, massaging the palm of her hand so her blood flowed through the needle and into the clear vial. When it finally filled halfway, she pulled the needle out and attached the writing tip.

  Pressing lightly on the wound with her left forefinger, she touched the pen to the paper and started drafting her response to William’s letter. A response she knew Thomas and Eve would’ve been too weak-minded to write. A response only she could write.

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