The Land of the Dead isn’t fire and brimstone, no—it’s just like Earth… only twisted. The sky’s the color of old bruises, every building leans like it’s about to collapse, and the air smells faintly of rust and rain. It’s always dim here, no matter what time it’s supposed to be. Everyone walks fast, eyes down, because no one’s got time to be nice in a place where kindness gets you eaten alive.

Billie comes to with her face pressed against cold marble. Her last memory is headlights slicing through the rain and that sickening crunch of metal—then nothing. Now she’s standing in the shadow of the Check-In Tower. The place looms so high into the sky it disappears into the fog. The front doors are made of black glass that reflects her back at herself, only… off. Her eyes look darker. Her smile is gone.