Chapter 24
T he flashes are white, blinding. She ducks, but not before the smoke engulfs her. It’s thick, suffocated. She begins to chock, except it isn’t smoke, it’s sand… in her mouth.
She runs, always running, the rooftop is a blur beneath her feet. Gunfire cracks behind her like fireworks. Too close.
She leaps but misses. Frantic hands grab for purchase. A voice shouts her name, but it is distant and garbled.
She turns. A soldier stares at her, blood on his uniform. His eyes lock on hers. Judging.
“No,” she whispers.
He reaches out, but she can’t get to him. Her feet won’t move. He falls. Over the edge.
Gone.
Screams echo. Are they hers? She’s falling too now. Down… down… into nothingness.
There’s a weight on her chest. She can’t breathe.
Then suddenly, a hand—familiar, steady—reaches through the dark.
Tom.
“Trust me.”
She clings to him. He’s warm, solid, real. She wants to hold on. Wants to stay in that touch. But he’s pulling away.
“No!” she screams, lashing out. Desperate.
But he’s gone.