Footsteps approached. Someone knelt next to me. I turned my head to see a man peering down, brow furrowed. He swept moon-silver eyes over me and pushed a strand of blond hair from his face. “Get up,” he said. He didn’t bother to introduce himself. But maybe he knew he didn’t have to. I recognized him. I took his hand, and he helped me stand. “Welcome to the underworld,” Vincent, dead King of the Nightborn, said to me. “I hear we have some work to do.”
Oh. My.God.
