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Prologue

Hush

Jason didn’t kno long he’d been hiding in the dark place in the ground where his , hadn’t even crawled out when his stoer, but she hadn’t returned as she’d pro from the small space, his face ith tears

She knew he hated the dark Why had she put him in the dark?

The sticky dah the floorboards above, it covered him, the taste of it thick and ripe in the air The smell er, even if hishis stiff lis still crue

He didn’t cry out, had learned to never ever cry out

“You mustn’t make a sound, Jason Promise me”

Digging his feet into the earth, he pushed and pushed and pushed until a tiny crack of se of the door, the handwoven h not to blot out the sunshine Whatever was blocking the trapdoor was heavy, but he was able to wedge his fingers under the lip of the door, touch the mat he’d helped his mother weave after they’d collected the leaves froainst his knuckles as he pushed his hand through to the wrist, and the trapdoor hurt when it came down on that wrist, but he knew his bones wouldn’t break—hisirown deeper into his power than she had by the time of her hundredth birthday

“So strong, my baby boy The best of both of us”

He didn’t kno long it took to wedge his other hand under the lip of the trapdoor, to twist his body around in the hole, the skin rubbing off his wrists, until he was holding the edge and pushing it up He just knew he didn’t stop until he shoved hard enough to slide off the blockage, theaith it The door ca soft Chest heaving and arms sore, he had to wait to attempt to climb out, and even then, his hands slipped, slick with the blood from his torn-up wrists

Rubbing theht from the sky- hit his hands

He froze, re the dark and viscous liquid that had dripped onto him while he was trapped in the hole Crusted and dried and flaky, it had turned into a kind of rust on his skin Just rust, he tried to think, just rust, but he could no longer fool himself as he had in the dark It was blood that covered his hands, his hair, his face, stiffened the black of his wings It was blood that had seeped through the mat and the wooden slats below, to the special hidey-hole his ed his nostrils with iron as he gasped in ragged breaths

It was blood that had spilled like water after the screams went quiet

“No matter what you hear, you mustn’t make a sound Promise me, Jason Promise!”

Tre at the rust that wasn’t rust, and pulled hi the trapdoor with careful hands—and averted eyes—so it wouldn’tat the wall He didn’t want to turn and see what lay on the other side, what he’d pushed off the top of the trapdoor But the as splattered with the rust that wasn’t rust, too Tiny bits of it had begun to flake off, baked by the hot sun pouring in through the sky-