The entire room froze.

  Then came the murmurs—soft at first, then sharp. Calloused whispers slithered between pews as the rumor mill sputtered to life, choking on scandal and spitting out smoke and tar. Enough gossip to power three city blocks, and still catching steam.

  She had clearly run.

  With wide eyes and bated breath, Oliver dared a peek at his next of kin—just a glance. Enough to see the black veins creeping up Sullivan’s throat like spilled ink beneath ice. Enough to see the darkness bleed into the whites of his eyes and curdle the surrounding air. Worse yet, Sullivan’s lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line.

  Not the worst Oliver had ever seen his cousin… but it could certainly be better.

  Doing his best to keep his lily-white hide out of Sullivan’s crosshairs, Oliver ran through every possible scenario in his head. There was the likely possibility that she had run away, but there was nowhere she could have gone. Outside of the oasis of Elysium, there wasn’t another bastion of civilization for hundreds of miles.

  Dead Zones, the Dread Wastes, and mountains that could be swallowed by rogue Atlantic tides. Nothing but danger beyond the wall. Just because there was a road didn’t mean it led anywhere.

  If she was merely hiding, it wouldn’t take long to find her within the city. They had eyes and ears in every stretch of cobble and mortar. Every stone. Every gutter. Every whisper—someone would see her.

  His gaze snagged on his niece, Evie, lingering at the back of the chapel. She gave a helpless shrug, eyes wide with confusion and fear. Even she knew they were royally fucked if the bride had vanished.

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  He opened his mouth to say something—anything—that might soothe his soon-to-be-enraged relative, but deep down he knew: there was nothing that could stop him. Not even Sullivan could stop Sullivan once he truly meant to level everything in his wake.

  The only things holding him back now were necessity and decorum, and even decorum had its limits.

  The organ hummed its last breath to the expectant crowd and Oliver sighed away his soul with it.

  Knowing lives were at stake—his included—he leaned toward Sullivan and whispered, "I'll… go and find her," hoping, praying, to curb the seething fury building beside him.

  Then the doors groaned open.

  Eyes snapped to the back of the room as the murmurs ceased. The silence was louder than thunder, heavier than rain. The guests, breath caught in their throats, stared in stunned disbelief. A gloved hand lowered mid-clap. Hands clutched at mouths, at pearls, at partners. A few inhaled too sharply. But none dared speak.

  She had finally appeared.

  The missing bride.

  Because Aleiya always did what was expected. It didn’t matter that her hands trembled or that every sip of air hollowed her out. She had been told to appear, to walk.

  And so she did.

  Bathed in the purest white from head to toe, tiny, hesitant feet drifted forward to meet her husband-to-be. She looked more wraith than bride. An echo of the fluttering forest leaves she had left behind. A soft, fragile thing that trembled before the storm.

  There was a flash of light without the thunder. A resounding, deafening click reached her, and she felt as if a piece of her was stolen.

  Then another and another.

  The flashes were disorienting, stripping, but still she walked.

  Each step she took wasn’t bravery, but obedience. This wasn’t courage. It was compulsion dressed in white. She had been raised to submit. To obey. To perform, quietly and gracefully the part given to her. And now she played the role of the bride.

  Nothing more.

  As the spectre of graceful ceremony made her way down the long, daunting aisle, it became unmistakable to all who could see.

  She was soaked to the bone.

  Even her veil hung heavy with water, her bouquet in damp, wilting tatters. Petal after petal slipped from her grasp, littering the floor behind her like offerings left in mourning.

  All that could be heard were her soft, quiet footsteps—and the sodden spatter of water onto cold stone floors.

  Here comes the bride indeed.