The Hellhound slows to a stop in front of a dilapidated fortress. They had run flat out for twenty minutes and despite having his breathing firmly under control, perspiration wets the skin of Nulla’s back and chest.

The power of the screams hadn’t let up at all, but the space between each one widened with each minute that had passed.

Above them, the stars are starting to lose their shine against the encroaching sunrise. The blue purple of the Fade’s twilight is being chased away by the first reaches of daylight.

He’s going to have to find a cover for the Hellhound. Like all creatures from the Fade, they can’t survive the sunlight.

The fortress stands almost like a gateway into the rest of the Fade, firmly planted in the middle at a point of the valley that fans wide open into a never-ending horizon.

From what Nulla had glimpsed it had looked like more of the same, but it’s probably where those who dwell in the Fade have their pathways into the lower levels.

The Hellhound’s claws click clack on the fortress’ drawn bridge. Nulla follows, keeping his steps silent as they slip into the interior.

There are entire chunks of its structure missing, keeping it in theme with everything they’ve passed so far. Entire chunks of stone are scattered inside and the sky comes into view every few seconds. Exposed beams remain strong under the structure but there is nothing else within it.

He stays alert, eyes seeking out every dark corner, on the lookout for demons tucked into dark pockets. Non emerge.

The scream sounds again just as they come upon a set of stairs leading up.

The steps are made out of a smooth stone but midway up, an entire section of wall is missing. It looks as if a giant has taken a bite out of the stairs. The Hellhound, unperturbed, leaps over the large gap and Nulla follows suit. Vines of ivy long dead cling to the stairwell, spilling out onto the fortress’s exterior.

At the top of the stairs is a tall arch without a door or gate into a tower. It looks a little brighter than the stair’s they have just climbed but there’s an unpleasant stench permeating the air.

The Hellhound bounds straight toward it.

When Nulla enters after it, he realises that there is no roof to the tower and the touch of brightness is coming from the lightening sky above them.

But before he can think much of it, his attention is arrested by the sudden sound of scraping on stone and when his eyes follow the sound he falls still.

The Hellhound is standing next to a creature.

The creature is shackled to the wall by its wrist. Its frame is painfully thin, ribcage and the points of its collarbone and shoulders jutting through skin the colour of obsidian. Its torso tapers sharply to a V point from which eight strong, vicious legs, protected by a hardened exoskeleton, emerge. Its legs are scrabbling over the stone, leaving criss-crossing lines etched there. There are older marks that indicate just how long the creature’s been here.. The chain from its shackle clangs against the wall and the metal hook holding it in place.

White opalescent eyes are fixed on Nulla and its mouth yawns open but shows nothing but broken black gums. Thin strips of hair cling to its mouth and face.

The scream splits the air and the pendant burns anew.

Nulla stares.

‘Are you sure this pendant belongs to the soul you’re looking for?’

Darsha’s eyes had been a warm brown, full of life and power.

The creature in front of him is a spinner. There’s nothing in it remotely resembling the Veil’s chosen seer.

The Hellhound paces back and forth, growling low. But her attention isn’t on the spinner. Her eyes keep flicking up to the sky.

Another scream rends the air, making the Hellhound’s growl intensify. The spinner’s gaze stays on Nulla, hungry and her fleshy breasts heave against the jutting bones of her ribcage.

She launches herself at him and her nails come within inches of his stomach before she’s pulled short by the manacle on her wrist. She tumbles back down, wailing as she twists on the floor, legs scrabbling and scraping.

He turns away and runs a hand down his face, breathes in deeply, trying to ease the tight feeling in his chest. Denial is a thick lump in his throat and he swallows, tries to get rid of the feeling even though it remains, stubborn and immoveable.

Nestled against his sternum, the pendant continues to burn.

The Hellhound brought him to this creature.

He drops his hand, jaw set. He stares at the wall as the spinner screams again. The seconds tick by as the sun’s fingers reach further into the sky.

Then his gaze catches on another chain dangling from them the wall he’s facing. There’s an opened lock on the ground.

Bracing himself he looks back over his shoulder at the spinner who freezes in the act of crawling closer to him, her eyes flaring wide as he catches her.

The spinner is clearly nearing the end of starvation.

His eyes drop to the manacle and chain keeping her tethered to the wall. Though not tethered enough that she can’t reach him if she goes carefully.

Manacles.

An image of the vampire he’d encountered on the way over comes to him.

There had been manacles on his wrists, just like the ones on the spinner.

Had the vampire been in here with the spinner?

Whatever this person was when you knew her, that isn’t what she is now.

Poe’s words echo in his brain, and he realises he’s staring down at the spinner with his hands fisted.

This time the Hellhound lets out a whine, head ducking.

The spinner’s gaze doesn’t waver from his face.

He remembers the blood dripping from Darsha’s slackened mouth. Remembers how her body had sagged within the constraints.

Nulla grits his teeth.

Without giving himself time to think, he takes the two steps to reach the spinner.

She launches herself at him and slams back to the ground when his fist connects with her head. Eyes closed and body still, she lies there. One arm dangles from the manacle, the metal cutting into the skin now that the spinner’s entire weight hangs from it.

Face grim, he flicks a look up at the sky.

He reaches for his sword once more. The lock doesn’t resist the slash of his blade, and her arm drops to the floor, manacle clanging against stone.

He shrugs out of his jacket and wraps the spinner’s cold body in it. He hoists her over his shoulder.

‘We need to hurry,’ he says to the Hellhound, and she either understands him perfectly or she obeys simply because it means getting away from the encroaching sunrise.

Nulla doesn’t bother going all the way down. Instead, reaching the hole in the staircase’s wall, he leaps.

The impact is harsh, he feels it reverberate up his shins in a way that tells him, had it been anyone else, his bones would’ve shattered.

He doesn’t even take a breath before launching into an all-out run. He keeps a hand on the spinner to keep her secured to his shoulder.

The Hellhound is at his side in seconds, and they tear through the Fade’s surface, heading straight back to where they’d come from.

He doesn’t have to look back to know the sunrise is on their heels. He can feel it in the warming of the air and see it in the way the shadows lean in the same direction that they’re running.

His muscles, still stiffer than usual from not having fully recovered from his sleep, strain at the pace but he doesn’t break his stride once. He’s leaping over debris or using them as stepping stones to cut a path back as fast as possible.

Sweat is beading on his forehead, shoulders and back, his hair sticking to his face. His breath leaves his lungs in harsh rhythmic bursts as he powers through.

He starts to feel the warmth spread up his calves and the shadows ahead shorten. A reddish hue starts to spread over their surroundings. It lights up the mountains of hardened lava along the top.

The heat is something else and the sun is only just starting to rise.

For the first time he wonders if he’s in danger from it too.

Nulla sees the large bus laying on its side that they’d passed earlier.

They’re close to it but he knows now they’re not going to make it to the Fade’s entry point and back into the Boundary before the sun fully rises.

Clenching his jaw, he pushes his body harder, mind racing through his limited options.

All this time the Hellhound has remained in the periphery of his vision, her white coat unmissable and now, for a split second it slips, falling behind him and a lone whine sounds loud.

He lets out a sharp whistle, harsh and commanding. He can’t turn back right now, and she needs to keep up. He hears the sound of her steps picking back up but the whine becomes consistent.

The heat of the sun rises to his upper thighs.

The purple has given way to lilac, to pink, to orange. Those lighter shades are stretching to the meeting point of the valley and chasing away the last remnants of night.

The demon bodies they’d passed are within view when Nulla makes a decision.

Dirt plumes into the air as he skids to a stop.

Not pausing to catch his breath he sets the spinner down under the shrinking shadow of a car on its side. The Hellhound quickly rounds the car just a few steps behind and tries to make itself small enough to fit within the small area of shade too.

Nulla makes a beeline for a large carriage compartment. It’s still connected to a broken harness. The carriage is an older model, a large butcher’s cart. It’s made of wood and the serving hatch is broken off and there’s a few more holes along the top.

He braces both hands against it. Releasing a deep breath, he shoves.

The carriage groans and he presses his lips together as he pushes, the muscles of his arms bulging as he pushes fast and steady, hoping the entire thing doesn’t collapse and takes his last option out of the equation.

He pushes and keeps pushing until the roof of the carriage hits the wall of hardened lava.

Running back, he finds the spinner and the Hellhound—now resting and panting heavily—running out of shadow to hide within.

He grabs the spinner and makes quick work of ferrying her over to the carriage. He isn’t as careful as he wants to be as he threads her through the service hatch and inside.

The last remnants of twilight cling to the sky as he scoops up an oddly docile Hellhound and does the same.

He nudges them back into the very far back of the carriage, as far away from the hatch as possible and stretches his jacket over the both of them as far as it goes before going back outside.

He weaves his way back to the dead bodies and the battered red car.

The vampire has disappeared from view.

The heat is rising and Nulla wipes the sweat from his eyes.

There’s no way the vampire could have made it to the Boundary. Not in the state he had been in.

Passing the head he’d severed less than forty minutes ago, Nulla goes to the side of the car.

There, sprawled across the front seats and flattened against its surface as much as possible is the vampire.

Those amber eyes are open and blinking in Nulla’s direction but he doesn’t react.

Nulla pulls the vampire out by his underarms. The vampire’s robe tears when it catches on something.

He expects to feel the brunt of the vampire’s dead weight but to his surprise, the vampire is still with it enough to make a conscious effort to find his footing.

Nulla’s not sure the vampire is even aware he’s doing it because there’s no attempt to either find purchase on Nulla’s shoulders or to shove him away.

Hoisting him up into a carry, he rushes back to the carriage.

The vampire hisses and turns its face into Nulla’s chest, seeking an escape from the morning light. His fangs clack against his lower teeth as he arcs and gasps, like he’s under excruciating pain.

The sun is cresting over the horizon.

Up ahead is the carriage.

The last of the blue disappears completely.

Nulla slides to his knees in front of the hatch.

The full blast of the sun slams into his back with unbearable heat and the vampire hits the inside of the carriage with a loud thump.

Gasping as the temperature rackets up to an unbelievable level. Nulla turns his back on the carriage and sinks to the floor, legs extending in front of him and facing the sun head on.

He removes the scabbard and sword from his back and lays it across his lap before hitches himself completely up against the hatch, blocking the sunlight from flooding inside.

He rests his head back against the carriage and and releases a long, slow breath.

His heart thunders in his chest.

From inside the carriage, he hears the Hellhound’s little whines and just below that, quieter, the sound of shuddering breaths and nails scraping over wood.

The vampire is still conscious.

Incredible.

Nulla closes his eyes against the blinding light.

It’s going to be a long hour.