The Shadows Have No Face || 𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐑

Let Us In. Let Me Out.

The clouds blocked out the sunlight and dimmed everything to a dullness and gray. Despite the crashing waves, it was the wind that stole my attention as it tousled my hair, beckoning me towards the center of the island. To the building there.

Atop a small hill—this island was only a hill—stood a stone building. It was cracked and stout, but I knew it was all a facade. If this really was where the Faceless had been hiding, everything was a trap.

I let the three sisters lead the way, not only because they seemed to know where they were going, but because if a trap was set off—they were the first to feel its effects. There was one path up, a zigzagging staircase cut into the stone cliff, ending on the only beach we arrived at. Apparently, this little crescent of sand was the only entry point—the only unwarded spot.

I held a tight hold on my blade strapped to my side, waiting for something—anything. I knew they were waiting. They had to be waiting. But nothing came.

No, not a single thing happened.

As we walked up, Cassian said from beside Azriel, "So, how does it feel?"

"What?"

"You know, not getting a single lick of sleep again."

Nesta smacked the side of his head. "We should have left you in Cretea."

"What? It's my duty to get my brothers through their feelings."

I huffed a laugh. "I would rather you wait until after this is over to pick fights."

"Would you shut up and start taking this seriously?" Amren hissed once we reached the top of the stairs. Cassian opened his mouth to bite back, and she turned and glared at him until he shut his mouth and looked away.

As I expected, the door required blood to open, which I had to give. Eirene used one of her sharp red nails to cut a small dot on my index finger, then smeared it roughly against the stone door. It opened, and I felt my heart stop beating for a moment to let my brain process.

Like an oven door had just opened, hot air flew out of the darkened room, bringing with it a smell that made Elain gag from behind Nesta. Rot and decay so old it stuck to everything it found a way to. Stuck in an air-tight space with no hope of escaping until now, somehow still able to infect and horrify.

The smell of death, of rot, of ruin. A hundred years of it. A million years more.

Rhysand used his magic to light up the room, and with a second gag, Elain threw up just outside the room. There was silence after, just a shocking silence while everything tried to make sense of itself. I'm not sure even the three sisters expected it.

I had seen death before—a million times before. I had to bury bodies and dig them back up. Had to document in vivid detail the states of their exterior and interior parts. I analyzed their states of decay—smelled the rotting skin so many times that I was unaffected by it now. There was such a horror in recognizing the smell of old death. The smell of ancient rot wasn't ready to leave.

Whatever was feeding on them ran into the cracks of the walls when the light shined on them, leaving whatever was left behind. Whatever was left—not much.

Greenish flesh against yellow bones. Dried blood, unable to flake away from the humid air. Mounds of black that looked almost akin to bodies. Melted iron on their hands, swords in their chests. And they were everywhere. Covered in furry mold both black and white, and the evidence of generations of insects that found their way through the cracks in the floor.

I could hear the echo of their screams and cries. Their prayers as they sat bleeding out, hoping to find the land of freedom when death comes to claim. Perhaps they never left, because it felt so much like they were staring at me, judging me—blaming me.