Maia tilts her head like she’s listening for something. She has a half-eaten granola bar in one hand, the other curled around an M24. Maia in a nutshell, right there. “Yeah,” she says, “you do.”
I shrug. “Yep.” I’m not apologizing every time I get worked up. It would never end. Not that it happens all that much anymore. I’ve been pretty chill for a long time. Until very, very recently. After Marcus’s graduation from Ranger School about a week ago, I couldn’t shake off how close Daryn had been and how I didn’t see her. I guess I got angry. I guess it affected Maia. She ended up breaking up with her girlfriend in a superheated phone call, which we all heard. In the food warehouse, everyone could hear everything. Maia told me she’d had it coming but I know it was partly my fault.
“It’s amazing out here, isn’t it?” she says. “I love this state.”
“Yeah. Amazing.” My answer doesn’t sound sarcastic, surprisingly.
“Bleh.” She frowns at her hand. “I took one of your granola bars by accident. These taste like birdshit, Blake. How do you eat these?”
“Quickly.” One of the benefits of being under Cordero’s wing is that she’s hyperinvolved on almost every level. When she learned about my digestive issues, she had it checked out. Turns out I have celiac disease, which is about as sexy as it sounds. Eating is less physically painful now, which is good. But the trade-off is the grief I get for it. I can turn into fire. I have a burning horse and sword. Given the context, I can see the humor in War having a sensitive tummy. “See ya, Maia.”
I’ve only taken five steps when her radio crackles. She answers and I hear Low’s drawl. “You with Blake?”
“He’s right in front of me.” Maia hands me the radio.
“Blake, over.”
“The drone just found her. Looks like she’s headin’ back here.”
“Is Bas with her?”
“No, it’s just her. No one else.”
CHAPTER 7
DARYN
For the longest time, I lie in a wet puddle. Curled up like it’s my bed. Like I’m not freezing or aching, or so disappointed I want to step outside of myself. Leave all that’s me behind.
My lower back stings as rainwater meets the gashes the creature gave me. And my palms are rope-burned. Neither compare to the throbbing at the base of my skull.
The pressure is receding in pulses. It is like a heartbeat of pain, lessening by the second.
Shadow ambles over and snuffles my ear, telling me it’s time to move.
I force myself to sit up and wince as dizziness hits me.
When the world stops spinning, I climb to my feet and see the orb. Once again I pluck the glowing little ball from the air. As it dims in my aching palms, the crack that runs through it splinters and shudders, and a piece of the orb breaks off.
No.
No, no, no.
A small shard, curved and rose petal shaped, has chipped off the main orb.
I brush rain off the surface. There are more fractures now, too. Cracks all over it, like it’s sunbaked earth.
There’s no question about it anymore. With every use, it’s becoming more fragile and compromised. I wonder if it’ll eventually be damaged beyond use and won’t open the portal at all. I have to assume so.
Panic flutters in my chest.
I’m not holding an hourglass in my hands, but it feels the same.
Carefully, I slip both pieces of the orb into my backpack. Then I hoist myself into the saddle and head for the Smith Cabin.
Home.
Shadow’s stride is sluggish and defeated. She’s as downtrodden as I am.
The storm is passing. The rain is lessening.
It feels like a betrayal.
My storm isn’t passing. I haven’t moved forward. I don’t know which way I’ve moved. My mind feels too foggy and slow to process what I just went through.
What was that horrible creature that attacked me?
Why was Mom in there? Was it even her?
I’m so consumed by trying to make sense of things that I’m not prepared when Shadow rears up. I fly back, pitching off the saddle, and land on my side on wet grass.
Only then do I see it.
Something silver just whizzed past us.
Shadow casts one look at me like she’s trying to shake it off, but the whizzing sound returns. I’ve never seen a drone—not in person—but I know that’s what the tiny remote-controlled-looking plane is.
I know it’s going to terrify my horse, too.
As the drone circles back, Shadow shoots off as fast as a bolt of lightning. In just a few of her long strides, I’ve lost sight of her. She’s disappeared into the darkness.
I jump up. “Shadow!” I chase after her, but she’s gone.
Vanished.
My girl. My connection to Bas and the guys. My connection to my sanity.
I keep running, sprinting home, the backpack slapping at the cuts on my back, tears lodged in my throat, but hoping, hoping, hoping. Maybe she went to the Smith Cabin? Maybe she’ll be there? Please be there.
But as I’m coming up on the property, everything looks wrong.
There are spotlights everywhere.
Cars everywhere.
People everywhere.
I know what this is. I know who’s here.
My boots suck to the mud as my legs grow heavy. I push on. Forward. No matter how hard this will be.
As I walk up I feel exposed by the lights. Everything I want to hide, visible.
I don’t have Sebastian ambling beside me with his long strides.
I don’t even have Shadow.
I have nothing.
I have failure.
Failure is something I have to spare at this very moment.
I’m covered in mud and bleeding and could there possibly be a worse time for this?
Isabel stands on the porch. She’s the only one I want to see. Around her are strangers strapped with weapons and wearing serious, unfriendly expressions.
Then I see Jode standing at the base of the porch steps. And Marcus right beside him. And if I let myself keep panning over it would be Gideon standing there with them.
As I reach them, stopping in front of Jode, I know what I don’t want to say more than what I do want to say. “Shadow bolted. She threw me about a mile west of here. All these lights and people, and the drone—they scared her.”
The line between Jode’s eyebrows deepens. I know he’s processing much more information than what I’ve just told him. He looks slightly older and more rugged, like some of the crisp blue-blood edges have worn away. All the memories of him from our time on trains and in fjords flutter right beneath my eyelids. Jode riding Lucent. Jode with his nose buried in a book. Jode with a wry smirk on his face.
“We’ll have the lights shut off,” he says, like this is natural conversation following the eight months we’ve spent apart. “And we didn’t know the drone would scare her.” Then he opens his arms. Jode, who’s the least affectionate. The least likely to do exactly what he’s doing.
I step in.
Our hug is firm, quick, and horribly unsatisfying.
When I step away I want to crawl under the slats of the porch but Marcus is right there, waiting.
The sight of him is almost enough to break my control. I don’t know how to pretend around Marcus—we’ve never been anything but straight with each other—and if he asks me if I’m okay …