Shane stared into the darkness ahead of him. On the far side of the stone bridge, the outlines of trees stood silhouetted against the night. The chasm beneath him was so deep that not even the moonlight could find its way down there. A black veil had swallowed everything, making the world below seem even more inaccessible than it did by day.

Every now and then, a distant call echoed from beyond the Dead Bridge—sounds that remained just as mysterious to him as they had been on the day he had begun his training.

That had been almost half a year ago.

The thought was stifling.

Was this really how he wanted to spend the rest of his life? Sitting atop the carriage of the Horses of Death, staring at a world whose dangers existed only in shadows and rumours?

Warden of the Dead Bridge was an honourable calling. An immense responsibility rested on his shoulders, for he guarded the crossing between the land of the living and that of the dead.

And yet his greatest challenge was staying awake.

Sometimes, he actually hoped to see something—a glimpse of one of the monsters that inhabited the Realm of the Dead, or perhaps even a spirit.

Perhaps even a glimpse of her.

He pushed the thought of Leia from his mind.

It had been a little over seven years since she had died. If he truly saw her on the other side of the Dead Bridge, the shock would probably leave him frozen to the spot.

A wistful sigh escaped him.

He could not even remember what her voice had sounded like anymore. Some days, he did not think about her at all. So many children had died of the Sleeping Sickness over the years that it had begun to feel almost ordinary.

Suddenly, a faint beam of light swept across the undergrowth on the opposite side.

Shane sat up at once. His pulse quickened. His hand searched for the button mounted on the side of the carriage. One press, and the whole of Mortalia would be awake within moments.

Silently, the oval patch of light slid along the base of the trees.

What was it?

A wandering soul?

He held his breath as it vanished.

Something grabbed him by the shoulders. A beast-like shriek rang out right beside him.

Shane yelled.

A man-sized shadow loomed next to him.

Acting on instinct, he slammed his hand against the alarm button. A piercing sound cut through the night.

For a moment, it was the only thing he could hear over the pounding of his heart—until a burst of laughter rang out and the shadow suddenly shrank to half its size.

"Dude, it's just me."

A paralysing feeling swept through Shane's chest; fear and shock did not fade that quickly.

It took him several seconds to realise that his best friend had climbed up beside him on the carriage.

Swearing, he smacked the alarm button. "Are you completely insane?" he snapped.  Heat flooded his cheeks. He had rarely felt so embarrassed. "The whole city's going to think we're under attack." Agitated, he looked over his shoulder.

In the distance, he could already hear doors opening and closing, and he expected the Peacekeepers to show up any second. What was he supposed to tell them? That his idiot friend had scared the life out of him?

"How was I supposed to know you'd freak out like that?" Cillian said, still chuckling as he shook his head. "Just tell them I pressed it."

"You're not even supposed to be here!"

"You never seem to complain about that any other time."

Spluttering, Shane smacked him on the shoulder. "Just go, before you make this even worse." He gave him a firm shove.

Cillian looked at him for a moment. He was absent-mindedly twirling a light rod between his fingers—an invention of his father's. It was a cylinder that projected a beam of light, and Shane now realised that Cillian had used it to cast that patch of light across the Dead Bridge. "I didn't come all the way out here just to get sent away again, so don't scream the whole city awake when I come back."

Shane did not answer. He felt relieved when his friend actually climbed down from the carriage and disappeared into the shadows. Cillian was no stranger to the Peacekeepers. They would throw him in jail without a second thought, and that was the last thing Shane wanted. Unlike Shane, Cillian did not have an influential family that could get him back out again within the hour.

That responsibility would probably end up on Shane's shoulders, and he would have to move heaven and earth to convince his parents. They disliked Cillian almost as much as the Peacekeepers did.

Or the Monarch.

Or, really, anyone except Shane himself.

The thought still brought a faint smile to his lips. Cillian might be a troublemaker, but Shane would not trade him for all the gold in the world. He was certain that life would lose all its colour without him.

The smile faded when he spotted five figures approaching from the edge of the city.

Shane climbed down from the carriage, checked that the horses were still tied up—untethering them was exactly the sort of thing Cillian would do—and crossed the stretch of grass until he reached the gate in the fence.

"What is the meaning of this, Warden?" the leader demanded.

Once again, Shane was relieved that Cillian had left. He would have loved nothing more than to mock the scrawny little man whom he could not understand anyone expected to command respect.

Shane looked beyond the man's appearance. Frail though he looked, he still had the authority to strip him of his position. "It was a mistake, sir," Shane said, surprised by how calm he sounded. "I thought I saw something, but it must've been the light—or whatever it was got scared off by the alarm. I didn't see it again afterwards."

"What exactly did you see?"

Shane shrugged and silently cursed Cillian. "A moving shadow. Not very big." He held his hands a short distance apart to indicate the supposed size—about the size of a loaf of bread.

The man sighed. "The alarm button is only to be used in an emergency."

Shane looked away. "I know," he muttered. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"It had better not."

The unspoken threat was almost tangible.

One more false alarm, and he would lose his job.

He would have to tell Cillian that their nightly visits were over. He could not afford to take risks.

Becoming Warden of the Dead Bridge was his greatest achievement. He did not want to disappoint his parents—he did not want to come up short against his twin brother yet again.

For the first time in his life, he felt as though his parents were proud of him.

He intended to keep it that way, no matter what.