The sun was nearly hidden under the horizon by the time Morgan and Raf stabled their horses at Moondial. The sky was a mess of reds and oranges, blues and purples, with increasingly darker hues.

  A signal was sounding in the low tower. All castle inhabitants were being called to the great hall for an announcement. Castle conferences were usually boring affairs and scheduled once a month on the new moon. It was far too soon to be having another conference.

  With their day already long and trying, the signal amplified all the fears and anxieties Morgan and especially Raf had been carrying since they woke up. As they ran to the great hall, they saw scared, tearful castle staff glancing at the siblings with dread and pity.

  Something was very, very wrong. Morgan could feel a rising panic, looked around and saw more panicked faces. Raf looked terrified. She stopped and grabbed his arm, forcing him to look at her.

  "You're losing your calm, and it's scaring everyone," she whispered to him, holding both his arms.

  "That's because I'm scared," he said defiantly. "You and I both know what happened. Timothy happened. He wanted us out of the castle, and now there's a sudden conference."

  "I'm scared, too," she said. "But that's not a luxury you can afford. It's not fair, but what you feel is amplified to everyone around you. When you're scared, you scare everyone else. You've got to be vigilant. You cannot fall into fear or despair. We need you to inspire us, especially in the frightful times."

  Raf didn't react immediately, only a few blinks. Finally, he nodded and closed his eyes. He took several deep breaths, and Morgan felt more at peace- though not entirely.

  "That was good. That worked. What were you thinking?" she asked.

  "I kept thinking, 'we'll get through this.' You and me. We'll get through this." He smiled sadly. They squeezed each other's hands and then ran for the great hall. By the time they arrived, a crowd had formed. Milo Meiori was sitting in their father's chair.

  "Milo," Raf greeted, his voice betraying uncertainty. "Where is my father?"

  Milo Meiori stood, walked over to Raf, and looked him in the eyes. When he spoke, pain broke the lines of his face. "Your father is in a coma. He killed one of the Holy Father's faithful, and Godfather Adam struck him down for the transgression."

  Morgan was stunned to numbness. Milo kept talking, but she couldn't hear most of it. Words rang in her mind like the bells ringing in the courtyard. She wanted to sit down but couldn't. It wasn't safe to mourn publicly. They had to hold it together.

  Milo continued, "Since your father was charged with treason, I've stepped in as acting steward until the Holy Father affirms or negates the current line of succession."

  Rafael found his voice. "What? No. I am acting steward in the event my father is incapacitated. Not you. We will hold an investigation and get to the truth of this!"

  Meiori held his hands up in a show of peace. "I'm not your enemy. Do whatever you want, but ask yourself, do you want to steward the island right now," at this, Meiori hesitated. He looked tormented. "Or would you rather be... with your father?"

  The siblings exchanged glances, a silent conversation. Everything felt so wrong.

  "Fine," Raf said, finally. "You can manage things until Adam decides, but not alone. I will help you steward. You're from Lona. I know Crescent. The people won't respect you alone."

  Meiori hesitated and then nodded. "We can talk about that." Something about the way he said it bothered Morgan. A sad and uncomfortable silence followed.

  "Where is our father?" she asked plainly. Meiori appeared at once relieved and grief-stricken.

  "He's been moved to his bedroom in the high tower. I don't know if he'll wake up. I was in the room when he killed Timothy. If Arthur does wake up, I have to arrest him for murder. Either way, it might be best to… say your goodbyes."

  That was ominous, Morgan thought. Or was it Raf? Her hand instinctively reached for her sword, and she knew without looking, Raf was doing the same thing. She looked around. No one was armed except for the guards, eight of them stationed around the great hall. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, but Morgan inspected each guard carefully.

  "To-to your father, I mean," Meiori stammered. "I am so sorry. Please, say goodbye to your father."

  "This conversation will be continued," Raf said. "Soon." He turned and left the great hall. Morgan followed. As they passed the guards, she watched them with a newfound suspicion and paranoia. People she'd known for years. How sudden she was to fear betrayal.

  But her fears bore no fruit. They reached the high tower only assaulted by pitying glances and frightened cries. People looked terrified, like the end was near. It wasn't Raf this time; he looked determined, his breaths slow and deep. The collective terror of Adam's wrath was too strong to be overcome by breathing exercises. Two guards were stationed outside Steward Avalyn's door, Limu and Sifu, men they knew and trained alongside. They opened the door, and the siblings walked through.

  Their father's bedroom was rustic and spacious, with a balcony overlooking the island and ocean. They closed the door behind them and were alone, the three of them. Arthur was lying in bed. Morgan and Raf hurried to his side and found him sweating. Morgan touched his forehead but found no fever. Arthur twitched. He grimaced, but he did not wake.

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  "He's in pain," Raf observed. "This isn't a coma. Something happened to him."

  "Milo said, 'Adam struck him down.' Whatever that means."

  "I suppose I'll ask him when I talk to him next. What the hell is he doing?"

  "It looks like a hostile takeover. He said Dad killed Timothy and then was incapacitated. No evidence. Only Milo's testimony backs it up."

  "You don't think Dad killed Timothy?" Raf asked her. She shrugged.

  "I wouldn't put it past him, but I think we have more pressing concerns. Milo said Timothy charged Dad with treason. That means Adam probably knows. And this," she pointed at their father, "is probably a preview of what's coming for us if we don't get out of here fast."

  "Wait, what. You want to leave him? Leave Crescent to Milo Meiori, and run?" Raf looked so young and bewildered. Morgan put her hands on his face.

  "I don't know what's happened to Dad, but I can't help him, and we're in danger. We need. To go. Now. We'll make for the crystal caverns. We'll catch up with Rowan and Lyn, and we'll figure it out. If we're here when Adam arrives, he'll kill us both."

  "What do you think he'll do if we're not here when he arrives?" The question silenced her. Raf turned to look at his father. "You should go. Adam probably won't sink the island if it's you that gets away. I need to stay and face the music."

  She was speechless. Every rational bone in her body wanted to run as fast as she could, but she kept wondering what Adam would do to her brother if she ran. She could not imagine leaving Raf to face Adam alone. After a moment of silence, she stepped by his side and squeezed his hand.

  "I go where you go," she said to him. He choked up and cleared his throat, trying to look resolute, very nearly succeeding.

  Suddenly Arthur began to convulse and grunt and finally sigh. His eyes opened. He slowly sat up in bed.

  "Are you okay?" Morgan asked, sitting on the bed. "What happened?"

  Arthur ignored her and ran his hands along his body as if discovering it for the first time. A slow smile crept across his face. Arthur looked up at Raf. There was something sinister behind his smile. Arthur turned from his children and stood up on the other side of the bed. He walked naked to the balcony. Raf and Morgan exchanged confused glances. Raf followed his father nervously. So did Morgan.

  "Dad? What's wrong? What happened with Timothy?" Raf grabbed his father by the shoulders, holding Arthur and forcing him to look at Raf. Morgan hung back, observing.

  Arthur's smile grew more sinister. Suddenly, he grabbed Raf by the throat and forced him to the balcony's edge. Raf struggled but was too stunned and confused to offer much resistance, and Arthur had his hand on Rafael's sword. Morgan rushed toward them too late. Arthur tossed Raf with ease far over the balcony to certain death.

  Morgan froze mid-stride, watching helplessly as her brother disappeared behind the ledge, reaching in vain for her. She couldn't move. It was as if all the air had been sucked out of her. Even inhaling felt strange and unnatural. Her sword arm hung limply at her side, but across from her, grinning, holding Rafael's sword, was Arthur Avalyn.

  Arthur signed and stretched his neck and shoulders. "Ahh," he said slowly, testing his voice. "Is that all it takes to break you? Do you give up? Shall I kill you now, too?" He taunted her.

  "You're not my father. What are you? What do you want?" She demanded, raising her sword. Arthur seemed to like that.

  "My name is Azazel. I'm one of the Fallen."

  He paused for dramatic effect.

  Morgan's heart dropped in her chest, and she nearly dropped her sword. Adam had summoned a demon from hell to possess her father and kill her family, and it was standing in front of her, wearing her father's body like an outfit.

  "What do you want?" she repeated in a whisper. Arthur kept smiling.

  "I thought I wanted to spend eternity with my fellows, but you know what? Eternity will last. I like it here, and I think I'll stick around." While he was speaking, Morgan was backing away toward the door.

  "Fine," she said, buying time. "You wanna stay on Eden, I can't stop you. Any more than I could have stopped my father from his little rebellion. He made his decisions, and here we are. You've decided to stay. Fine. Now, how about you decide to let me go, huh? You do your thing, and I'll just get out of your way."

  Arthur chucked. "There's no sense bargaining. There's nothing you can give me that I can't simply take for myself."

  Morgan reached the door and tried to run, but the door wouldn't open. She was trapped.

  "Oh no," Arthur taunted her. "There's no escaping it."

  She turned around and brandished her sword. "I can fight it."

  "Good," Azazel said in Arthur's gleeful voice. He raised Rafael's sword.

  Arthur lunged, but Morgan parried it easily and knocked Arthur off balance. "It looks like you haven't mastered my father's body yet," she observed aloud. Arthur was taller than Timothy and more muscular. Their different bodies required different weight distribution and force behind movements. Azazel was still learning how to ride Arthur's body. That gave Morgan one small advantage.

  As they both came to the same realization, Arthur's smile became manic and frightful. He attacked Morgan ferociously, repeatedly. Azazel's advantage was unholy brute strength, and it took everything Morgan had to deflect his blows. She tried to slide his sword away when she could, but every swing shook her body and battered her arms and shoulders. Arthur was backing Morgan into a corner. She saw an opening as he swung; she could strike and stab her father in the heart; instead, she rolled toward the balcony, barely regaining her footing in time to deflect another swing.

  Arthur was unrelenting. She could evade his attacks for only so long. With the doors locked and nowhere to go, falling back to the balcony, she saw her choices clearly: she could die one way, or another, or another, but no matter what she picked, this was the end. She made her choice.

  Arthur made one final swing, but it didn't matter. Morgan let her sword catch the blow, dropped it, turned from Arthur, and ran to the edge of the balcony. Jumping off the railing, she closed her eyes and whispered, "I go where you go."

  Morgan felt the wind on her face, but she didn't fall. Instead, she lurched toward the balcony again. Opening her eyes, she realized Azazel was holding her suspended in the air with magic. He slammed her to the ground so forcefully it knocked the breath out of her and slammed her head against the stone. She looked up through stars and fog to see her father's face.

  "That's very sweet," he taunted her. "But if you won't play along, I'll end this game myself." Morgan braced herself for a killing blow that didn't come. Instead, Azazel lifted the sword Morgan dropped, pointed it at her father's chest, and Morgan watched in horror as Arthur stabbed himself in the heart. As the light faded from Arthur's eyes, a shadow appeared from behind his face. Arthur's body fell to the ground, but the shadow figure stayed upright, looking down at Morgan. She screamed of panic and mourning and desperation and crawled back from it, but the shadow dove into Morgan's chest.