The cold hit me like a slap, yanking me from the penthouse floor straight into that frozen Binding Hall. Statues of wolves and guests loomed, mid-snarl, mid-cheer, time locked in ice. My heart raced—Devon. He'd pulled me through. I scrambled up, spinning, calling out. "Devon! I'm here! I came back!"
Silence. No growl, no arms crushing me close. Just echoing emptiness. "Devon?" I bolted down the hall, feet pounding on the marble. "Where are you? I chose you!"
A door creaked open ahead. Molly stepped out, her ghostly form flickering, eyes sad. "Irene. You made it."
I grabbed her arms. "Where's Devon? He called me—pulled me. I need him now."
She shook her head, pulling me inside a dim chamber. "Come. You have to see."
Thelma stood by a coffin, Astrid hovering nearby, and a guy I didn't know—tall, shadowy, must be Christopher—guarding the door. My stomach dropped. "What is this?"
Molly nodded at the coffin. "Look."
