Chapter 1
ONE
EMMA
My head was pounding. A relentless, throbbing ache so sharp I couldn’t focus.
"I think she’s waking up," someone whispered, their voice close enough to brush against the edges of my consciousness.
"Are you sure?" a deeper voice cut in, edged with a mix of hope and a clear threat—the kind that warned the first person not to be wrong.
James.
I would have smiled if I could, but my lips were as numb as the rest of me.
The rest of their muffled conversation tugged at me, and pulled me toward wakefulness as I pushed against the fog in my mind, desperate to claw my way back to the surface.
"Emma," his warm, soothing voice whispered in my ear. "Wake up, sweetheart."
Sweetheart? James was calling me sweetheart?
Crap. Did I die?
"Let’s give her a little boost," another person suggested.
I’m almost there, you impatient assholes. Just wait.
"Don’t you dare touch her," James growled, and I loved how his words sounded like a low, menacing command. "She’ll wake when she’s ready."
Gods, I loved him.
I wanted to tell him it wouldn’t take much longer, but unfortunately, my body still wasn’t taking any requests. My head still throbbed, and my body seemed…off. Like “weirdly floating in the void of existence” off.
Finally, a sudden rush of life surged through me as if I’d downed an energy drink.
I grabbed onto the feeling and rode the wave straight out of my stupor, clawing my way back to the land of the conscious.
Then, the tingling started—like I was some half-conscious Tinkerbell, zipping around Neverland on a sugar high.
"Her eyelids are fluttering; it won’t take much longer now."
Who was that?
Slowly, I pried my eyes open to an assault from blinding sunlight, and I let out an annoyed grunt, silently cursing everyone in the room for not having the basic decency to close the damn curtains.
A hand slipped into mine and squeezed it lightly. James. Even in my half-conscious state, I’d know his calloused hand out of a thousand. A small, involuntary smile tugged at my lips—one I fervently hoped wasn’t accompanied by drool.
His index finger traced tenderly across my palm, the light touch sending a shiver through me. It tickled, sure, but more, it sent flutters spiraling in my stomach, a sensation as overwhelming as it was comforting.
With a monumental effort, I turned my head to my right, squinting to meet the person I already knew was waiting for me. Sure enough, James’s vivid green orbs locked onto mine.
"James," I whispered, my voice rough and raw, as if it hadn’t been used in weeks. I didn’t bother acknowledging anyone else in the room.
"You have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say my name," he grumbled, his own voice deeper, raspier than usual, and heavy with emotion.
Without thinking, I brought our joined hands to my lips and pressed them lightly against his knuckles. The gesture was weak, trembling even, but I poured every ounce of devotion I could muster into it. It wasn’t much, but it was all I had.
“Ahem,” someone cleared their throat, signaling we weren’t alone.
James stiffened beside me, his muscles tightening with more than simple irritation at being interrupted.
I squeezed his hand, a silent reminder of the connection we still shared despite the intrusion.
For a fleeting moment, it worked, and I could sense him relax.
But then, like a light switch flicking on in the dark, the memories came flooding back, blurry but relentless.
Our last fight.
Julian.
The True Bond.
James telling me to stay away, to not contact him anymore. The hurt in his look, the finality in his words.
And then the Radicals.
I jolted upright, yanking my hand from his. Fire licked up my ribs, and my breath caught like I'd been punched from the inside out.
Justine stood near the window with an unreadable expression; while Stephen stepped closer, his features drawn tight with worry.
"What happened?" I rasped, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears. Damn, how long had I been out?
"You don’t remember?" Stephen asked quietly. His tone was gentle but it carried a clear undercurrent of concern.
I tried to figure out all the fragmented memories hitting me like shrapnel from my own thoughts. "Not entirely. I—" My focus shifted to James, searching his face for something—reassurance, maybe. "I remember us fighting about Julian; I remember Radicals attacking us."
"Hundreds of Radicals broke through our Layers and stormed the Universitas." Justine spoke from across the room, her fingers twisting the hem of her sleeve. "They turned on the Amplifier. You were at the Scola, and fought them with Jackson by your side."
I hesitated, the fog in my head gradually lifting, the pieces beginning to fall into place.
"They came for you," I whispered to James, the image suddenly clear in my mind. "I saw them lunging for you."
He nodded, then smiled, soft and grateful. "You saved me."
Stephen leaned forward; his eyes gleaming with pride. "It wasn't only James you saved, my dear Emma. From what I understand, you saved practically everyone."
Justine snorted. "Saved? Sure—she saved a few kids, then killed almost everyone else in the process—Radicals and us!" Her words dripped with accusation, hardly masking the emotion simmering right beneath the surface.
My jaw dropped. "I did what?"
James coughed. “Well, sweetheart—”
What the hell was he calling me sweetheart for? Didn’t he tell me never to contact him again? Because of Julian and our True Bond?
Speaking of, where the hell was Julian?
“As far as we can tell, you linked your translation with the Amplifier, which enhanced it—without you imploding. In trying to save my life, you kind of went nuclear,” he said, smiling.
Was he seriously smiling? We’d spent an entire year trying to prevent me from doing exactly that, and now he looked pleased about it? What the hell was going on?
"Yes, well, we can discuss all of it later," Stephen interrupted, as he pulled up a chair near the bed, his stare now level with mine. "First, my dear Emma, how are you feeling? Any dizziness? Nausea?"
I nodded once, my head still pounding. "All of the above. Plus, my head's killing me. Can I get some aspirin?"
Justine snorted. "Let me," she said, stepping forward.
Right. Healing powers. Much more efficient than aspirin. Gods, I was still such a human.
She placed her hands gently on either side of my head, and a soft lemon-colored haze began to spill from her palms—warm and shimmering, like sunlight filtering through mist. It sank into me with a quiet pulse, soothing the ache behind my eyes and dulling the throb in my skull.
As her translation did its work, I glanced at James, searching his face for any flicker of the anger that had clouded his eyes just the day before. But it wasn’t there.
Confused, I edged closer, murmuring. "Aren’t you still angry with me?"
James leaned in, and whispered back, "Later." Then he winked. He winked. Was this his way of telling me he wasn’t angry anymore? It had to be, right?
My heart started hammering in my chest, instant hope filling my thoughts.
Once Justine finished clearing up my headache and checked me over thoroughly, I took in air through my nose, letting it out in a slow sigh and asked, "So. What happened next?"
"You mean after you blew up the Universitas?" Justine replied sharply, scathing even, as her expression remained grim.
"I blew up the Universitas?" I shrieked, pulse roaring in my ears.
"No, you didn’t. At least, not entirely," James cut in, but he kept his tone casual as if none of it were a big deal. "Only the Spring Palace."
My vision snapped wide. What the…?
"Don't worry; we've already rebuilt most of it," Stephen quickly reassured me, and I appreciated the scolding look he sent Justine’s way.
"You rebuilt the entire Spring Palace in one day?" I gasped, struggling to process the enormity of it all.
"Uhm… No, not in one day," James answered hesitantly, then glanced sideways at Stephen.
"You think all of this happened yesterday?" Stephen asked in a soft voice, his expression taut with careful worry.
I frowned. "Yeah. Why? How long was I out?"
A heavy silence fell. Even Justine—sharp-tongued and unflinching just moments ago—stayed quiet.
My pulse spiked as I locked eyes with her. “Tell me,” I demanded, my voice tight.
"You were in a magically induced coma," she said with caution, while holding my stare. "For three weeks."
"Three weeks?" The words burst out of me, too loud to care.
"Shhh, Emma, you have to stay calm." Stephen tried to soothe me, but his attempt scarcely scratched the surface of the panic surging inside me.
I’d blown up the Spring Palace. I’d been unconscious for almost a month.
And he wanted me to stay calm?
My mind was spinning, trying to process it all: the destruction I’d caused, the coma, the lost time…
But the most disorienting part was James.
How had his anger disappeared so suddenly?
The same man who had pushed me away when I’d eventually told him what he meant to me was now acting like none of it had ever happened.
I almost didn’t want to ask, but I had to. "What about Ju—the Elder?"
James smiled again—he smiled. "Julian left. He told us to take good care of you, but he had urgent matters to attend to. No one really knows where or why." Then he shrugged, as if Julian’s sudden departure was no big deal.
I stared at him for a beat without blinking. Julian left? Without a word? While I was in a coma? After we forged the True Bond? Yeah right, he wasn’t selling me on that for a second.
“And where was he during the battle? I don’t remember seeing him?” My impatience started to chew through my remaining shred of control like a caffeinated hamster on a cardboard box.
Stephen and James shared a glance.
Oh, what now?
“Don’t tell me he portaled out to get the United Chiefs again?” I said, half-joking—I highly doubted he’d pulled that stunt twice.