Chapter 3
THREE
EMMA
Four days prior
Blood. So much blood. Everywhere.
I woke up, laying on the floor in the middle of an actual pool of blood. The sticky crimson liquid clung to every part of my body, soaking through my clothes.
The TV in the background droned on, broadcasting another grim update: “The nationwide magic-free bubble is still in effect. No magi are permitted to use any form of magic, translation, or deception. Violators will die. Do not panic; this is only temporary, until the authorities determine the appropriate next course of action.”
I blinked. How the hell was I still alive? The bubble was still in effect; I should’ve died on the spot.
My mind raced, spinning in chaotic circles as fragmented images from the last hour began to take shape. The faces. The shouts. The unmistakable sound of heavy boots crashing through the doorway.
They had come for me. They had known I had magic. They had a warrant for my arrest. But why? How had they found me? How did they know who and what I was?
"Enemy of the state," they’d told my parents. No further explanation.
And then... And then... my mom had stepped forward. Not back, not aside, forward. Shielding me.
My dad had followed, stepping in front of her, shielding us.
And then...
I tried to move, but my limbs screamed in protest. Even breathing hurt. My eyes landed on the front door, still ajar.
My mind flickered back to the most excruciating moment of my life: the sight of the two people I loved most in the world, torn away from their lives.
From me. My heart splintered, the agony so raw and consuming it defied words.
It hurt so much, I wanted to tear my own heart from my chest, anything to stop the relentless, unbearable spiral of pain.
Don’t let it in. Not yet.
I had to push the devastation down, numb myself until I had a plan.
Forcing myself to sit up, I turned my head, looking around at the wreckage, barely recognizing the dining room, once filled with laughter and warmth.
The back wall in front of me, usually decorated with family photos, now stood bare, save for the white marks left behind by years of hanging frames.
The furniture lay shattered, reduced to splinters, and the room was littered with pieces of people, bits of flesh, eyeballs, blood. So much blood.
All because of my “eruption.” What else could I call that kind of translation?
The kind of total destruction.
The kind, triggered by horror.
They had been shot in front of my eyes. Killed right in front of me. With a fucking human gun.
My stomach twisted violently, my pulse thundered in my ears, and then my entire body went numb, paralyzed by an overwhelming surge of fear. No, not fear, panic.
Panic the pain would swallow me whole. I wouldn’t survive this. It would destroy me. I didn’t want to feel it.
I had watched as my parents were murdered by humans, and before I had even processed it, my power had erupted—raw and uncontrollable—exploding in every direction.
I hadn’t realized what was happening until it was too late.
It was like a bomb going off inside of me, inside the house, the force tearing through everything, ripping apart walls, furniture, and people.
Everyone and everything in the house—human military included—was blown apart. Pieces of them splattered across the room, indistinguishable from the wreckage of my once-familiar home. Flesh and bone were reduced to fragments, and blood soaked everything.
And my parents… Their bodies, the people who had stood in front of me, protecting me… They were gone. Not a trace left. Not a single piece of them to hold onto. The blast had obliterated them, their remains lost in the chaos I had unleashed.
What was even the last thing I’d said to them?
They were gone, and I was still here. I should’ve died with them. How the hell did I survive translating inside a bubble?
I could feel my mind wanting to shut down, to surrender to the void, to let me slip into oblivion. It would be so easy to let the numbness take over, to disappear into the darkness inside my head. But I couldn’t afford it. Not yet. I needed to move, to function, just for a little while longer.
One step at a time.
The US was bubbled in. Translating again would be a sure death sentence.
I’d have to get out the country.
The closest Collective outside the bubble was Kanata C, Canada. It was my best shot at refuge. But they were already on the lookout for fleeing magi. And a dozen dead soldiers? That would catch up to me fast. They’d hunt me down like a fox on a chicken farm.
Whatever I wanted to do next, I didn’t have much time to do it.
Pain.
It slammed into me like a tidal wave, knocking the air out of my lungs. My chest heaved, but there was no oxygen. My heart thudded painfully, and the agony was so overwhelming I wanted it to stop.
I wanted to die.
Maybe I could. I could just translate one more time, right here, right now. The bubble was still there; I wouldn’t survive it a second time. I could be with them.
All I’d have to do was focus on my energy.
Just one more time. It would hurt less. My chest tightened, my throat closing as if there was no air left in the world.
No.
Don’t you dare give up!
My own voice—faint, yet firm—echoed in my mind, pushing back against the prominent death wish creeping in. My thoughts spiraled, racing away from me, but through the chaos, one clear thought cut through. It was small at first, but I clung to it with everything I had.
You will survive this.
I repeated it over and over, willing myself to believe it.
I closed my lids and forced myself to stand. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest, but I had to move.
Preferably before the darkness swallowed me whole.
I could feel myself starting to shut down, the battle between numbness and pain now raging for control over my mind.
Numbness offered peace, a quiet way to escape this agony, while the pain threatened to drown me in waves so intense I could hardly breathe.
They tore at my mind, both vying to consume me.
I couldn’t let either win. Not yet. I had to focus. I would deal with the pain later. I had no choice but to keep going, even if it was just one thought at a time.
Think, Emma. Think!
First things first: a shower. I had to get the blood off. Their blood. My skin crawled with the thought of it, every inch of me sticky, stained. I couldn’t stand it.
Also, I’d need to figure out what to do with the gore, the wreckage that filled my home. It would take too long to clean. But how could I leave it like this?
Small steps, Emma. Shower first.
The hot water stung as it washed away the blood, but it did nothing to clean the guilt or the images burned into my mind. When I stepped out of the bathroom, I steadied myself and forced my focus back into place.
I would have to run. The human government would soon realize their soldiers never returned. They’d come for me, and I couldn’t afford to be here when they did.
But...what was I supposed to do about my house?
Fuck, I needed help. I needed someone. But there was no one to call, no one to reach out to. The phones were gone, blown to pieces like everything else in this shattered shell of a home. Nexing was off the table too, as long as the bubble remained in effect.
I was all alone.
Looking out the window, I noticed the sun beginning to dip below the horizon. My Offensive training kicked in, sharpening my focus.
Once night fell, I would leave. The darkness would be my ally. I had to escape before anyone came looking for me, before the pain overwhelmed me. I needed to move while I still had control.
Pain.
The scorching agony of losing my parents flared up again, stabbing me in the chest.
“Not yet!” I screamed at it internally, shoving it back down. I still needed a clear head.
Looking around the room, I realized I didn’t have the time to fix up the house. Humans would surely send investigators out here, and they would find the proof of my actions, confirming what they already suspected. But there was no time to clean any of it. I had to disappear before they came.
Breathe. Think.
After rummaging through some stuff, I found a map—somehow spared from the destruction—folded in the hallway closet. I clutched it tightly, my only lifeline now.
The map was clear. I had to move north, through New Hampshire and into Vermont.
If I walked thirteen hours a day at an average pace of three miles per hour and kept sleeping to a maximum of six hours a night, I’d reach the Canadian border in about six days.
If I cut down my hours of rest, maybe less.
Public transport could get me part of the way, but it was a significant risk, sitting in one place for an extended period. If a picture of me was circulating, I could easily be recognized. Plus, relying on transport wouldn’t aid me in crossing the borders, which would be the most challenging part.
Why had they even closed the state borders? It was absurd, but it didn’t matter.
Fuck, my thoughts were all over the place. Focus.
I needed a small bag, nothing too heavy.
My feet moved of their own accord. In the kitchen, my hands trembled as I grabbed a small backpack, hastily stuffing it with the bare essentials.
I packed some food and water—less than half of what I’d need—but any more would weigh and slow me down.
I didn’t have time for anything that could hold me back.
Focus, Emma. Focus on the mission: getting to safety, getting across the borders unseen, getting to Kanata C.
By the time night had fallen, I cast one last glance at the devastation behind me, the weight of my former law training pressing hard against my instincts. Leaving a house full of evidence was a terrible idea, but what other choice did I have?
Couldn’t exactly burn it down without attracting attention. Not with other houses tucked just far enough away to see smoke.
Time to go.