“He’d tell her everything, in time. About the Apostle. About the Priory. About Liam. About the pledge they all made, the thin lip of Hell they’d found in the outskirts of Chicago. About nine-year-old Colton, who’d thrashed his way through the frozen Cocytus itself to lay himself at her feet. Drawn to her, drawn to her, the way every other dead, shivering thing drew in close.”
