As Sable closed the door to Crow’s room, Clare flattened her mouth into a line, tapping a thoughtful finger against her lips.

“It’s amazing no one got to him while I was away,” Clare grumbled.

“Why do you say that?” Sable asked.

“I’ve been approached many times to perform a lobotomy,” Clare answered. Sable blinked, startled by the information.

“What? By who?”

Clare frowned. “Other doctors who have worked here. Colleagues. It’s been an argument I’ve had for three years. All over that poor young man in there.” She gestured toward Crow’s closed door.

“His file says he came here rambling about all sorts of terrible things,” Sable said. “Apparently he was admitted almost immediately.”

“Yes, it’s awful,” Clare said grimly. “I’ve been trying to get him released but I’ve been overruled every time.”

Sable thought for a moment. “There may be a transcription of what he said when he showed up here in his file. Maybe there’s something there we can use to do something?” she said. Clare gave her a thoughtful look.

“There isn’t much there,” she said. “But it can’t hurt to look over it.”

Clare pulled a folder from a filing cabinet marked Torell, C. Flipping it open, she set it on the worn, dark wood table where Sable sat. Crow’s photo sat atop the file, staring up at her. Clare rifled through the pages, finding reports from three years ago.

“Ah, here it is,” she said, pulling out a sheet of paper. She pushed her glasses further up her nose, peering through the lenses. “Let’s see what there is to be learned here.”

Crow pulled his jacket tight across his torso, blocking out the winter chill. He hurried around the side of Rosemanor Sanatorium. He brushed snow from his hair, looking for the door Razath told him to enter. He found it tucked by the rear of the building, icy crystals climbing its surface. He tried the knob, but it was locked.

“Jarvla,” he muttered, rattling the door. He crossed to the tall wrought iron fence, looking between its bars into the courtyard between the main hospital and the nurses’ quarters. He didn’t even know if anyone was there, but Julien had said to rendezvous at the sanatorium if things went wrong. And things were very wrong.

He grabbed the fence, ignoring the bite of cold on his bare palms as he hoisted himself up and over. His boots sunk into a snowdrift.

Inside the fence, the back door of the building was unlocked for the staff to come and go. He entered through the door, hurrying down the hallway.

“Razath!” he yelled. “Razath, I need your help!”

The hallways were empty of patients, but a few nurses stuck their heads out of doorways.

“Sir, you can’t—” a nurse began, and shrieked as he rushed past her.

“I need Razath, they’re after me, I need to find her!”

A nurse stopped him, and he slid to a stop with her hands grasping his sleeve. “Sir, you can’t be here! Who are you looking for?”

“Dra åt helvete,” he growled, ripping free. “The demons are coming, I need to speak to Razath.”

“Demons? What—Who is Razath?” The nurse gave a frightful, wide-eyed look to another down the hall. The latter rushed away.

“She’s here somewhere, where is she?” Crow demanded. He yelled Razath’s name as he rushed through the halls of Rosemanor Sanatorium, and when he reached the lobby by the front doors, the guards on staff came at him with batons and a straightjacket.

His screaming did nothing to dissuade the nurses, nor did it summon Razath to his side.

“Razath. What’s that mean?” Sable asked. “Who is she?”

Clare shook her head. She furrowed her brow, plucking her glasses off her face and setting them down atop the table. She rubbed her eyes.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve never heard a name like that.”

“I wonder if Razath—whoever she is—ever found him,” Sable said.

“Evidently not,” Clare said. “Or I’m sure he’d be out of here by now.”

Sable nodded. “Birdie had said he came here rambling about demons,” she said. “I didn’t believe it at first.” Her fingers traced the words, the rough transcription of what Crow had yelled running through the halls of Rosemanor. What had Crow come here for? Who was this person he’d sought? Sable’s skin chilled at the name written over and over in the file. Razath. It felt sinister on her tongue, the word burning bitter in her throat.