Lucian plummeted through the fog, a weightless bullet slicing through ghost-thick air.
He fell faster with every breath, the wind clawing at his face and snapping his hair upward like black ribbons in a storm. But his concern wasn't for himself.
His entire team was falling with him.
And the worst part?
They didn't even know it.
'They're still trapped in the illusion,' he realized, panic surging like a blade through his spine. 'They don't even know we're falling!'
Shapes flailed in the mist beside him—Bruma, Fenric, and Carlos, suspended like puppets with their strings cut. He reached for them, fingers grasping blindly in the gloom. Bruma was closest, her massive body tumbling through the air like a boulder in freefall.
Her violet hair whipped in violent arcs, some strands plastering across her orcish face's gnarled, tusked features. Her eyes were vast and empty, terrifying in their vacancy.
Lucian lunged forward and slapped a hand against her thick, moss-colored bicep.
