When you’re sitting around a kitchen table, clapping each other on the shoulder and telling yourselves how brave you are, they sound brilliant.When you’re exhausted from running for miles and miles underground through the gates to the Gates of Hell, bumping into danger at every turn, they seem decidedly less brilliant. When your partner turns and tells you that your one advantage, that he can hear your enemy’s plans in his head, no longer exists, the plan sounds downright stupid.It didn’t take long for the demons to realize we’d invaded, but then, in our role as a distraction, we weren’t exactly trying to be sneaky. Ever since, they’ve been hot on our tail, the moments of respite few and far between. Too few and too far between.We dive through another doorway and pound down the hall. Armand’s mouth is compressed, a slash across his determined face. He leans forward, over his feet, putting as much speed into his stride as possible. He knows he’s holding me back; I’m far faster than he is.
