Nova
The hum is in my teeth.
I don’t know when that happened.
The mark is hot. The leather strap is cutting where it’s already cut and I can feel the groove. I shouldn’t be able to feel the groove from the inside but I can.
Lena hasn’t moved.
Cheek on the glass. Palms up pressed into it. Fog where her breath is. The fog isn’t going anywhere.
“Let go, Nova.”
“It’s easy.”
I don’t look at her.
“Output at thirty,” the woman at the panel says.
“Hold,” Laith says.
The hum gets lower.
Something pushes up under my ribs.
Heat.
Locke on the porch. Bags on the ground. His hand—
The chair shakes.
Coffee. Black. Too bitter. Vaelor taking it back.
Can’t breathe.
A donut with sprinkles. He knew.
“Pulse?”
“One-forty-six.”
“Track it.”
It’s hot under my hair. Hot at the corners of my eyes.
Beckett, covered in drywall dust. The hallway. His hands hovering before they—
A sound comes out of me.
Damn it.
“There,” Laith says.
Closer to the glass.
“There it is.”
I close my eyes.
Kyron’s neck. My arms around him. Stumbling toward the porch because—
Ribs.
A roof. A blanket. You’re beautiful, Nova.
Skin.
Trey on the edge. Get over here.
“Output at forty.”
“Hold.”
“Sir—”
“Hold.”
The hum changes.
Something underneath it just—
Laith goes still.
I see it through my lashes. He goes still the way you go still when you hear something you weren’t supposed to hear.
“What was that.”
“I — I don’t have it. The board’s not—”
“Then check the board.”
The pressure under my ribs moves.
Not out.
Something else. Pulling against it. From under the mark. From under that.
It feels like—
No.
No, no, no. Don’t.
It feels like hands.
No.
They’re gone.
Vaelor’s hand on my back. Always. Every time something was hard. Every time.
Stop.
The mattresses on the floor. Soup. Bread. Eating because—
I can hear myself breathing wrong.
Locke at the well. His shirt wet. I just kissed you next to a well because you wouldn’t let me carry a damn bucket.
The mark flares.
Not warm.
White.
I can see it through my eyelashes. Light around the strap. Light on the chair.
“What—” the woman says.
“Reduce.”
“Reducing.”
“Reduce more.”
Beckett’s tattoos. My hand on his stomach. You’re covered in them.
“Sir, it’s still climbing—”
“Hold her down.”
Hands at my shoulders.
The door of the box opens.
Vaelor on the porch. Happy looks good on you. My palm flat against his chest because he’s too tall and I had to—
The light at my wrist is brighter than the room.
“Get her arm — get her arm down—”
Lena’s cheek on the glass.
“Yes,” she breathes. “Yes, yes. Don’t be scared.”
“Sweetheart. Let go, Nova.”
I stop.
Lena’s mouth doesn’t say sweetheart.
That’s not Lena’s word.
That word is—
Locke saying sweetheart with his face in my neck. I’ve got you.
Locke saying I love it. Catching it. Going still. Not taking it back.
Never taking it back.
I make a sound.
Broken.
I don’t know what it is.
“What did she just do,” Laith says.
Lena, the real Lena, with a stupid tiny bottle behind her back. For courage. Drink it anyway.
She’s right there. Six feet.
She’s gone.
“What did she just do.”
Heat in my throat.
Rane’s restaurant. Maria’s arms. Stunning. The way nobody had ever—
Skin. Splitting. Or burning. I don’t know which.
The button-downs on the porch. Trey on one side. Rane on the other. Would you do me the honor?
The light goes through everything.
“Sir — I’m losing the readings—”
“Stop her.”
Trey holding the clothes. It’s just clothes. It’s not just clothes.
Beckett’s hand on the mattress. Reaching.
Kyron at the window. Hand on his chest.
I can’t get enough air.
I miss them.
I miss them so much.
I miss them so much I can’t—
Something gives.
Lena says yes.
Laith says no.
I reach for them.
Everything turns white.