62
Rook’s tank shatters with a roar in a shower of flying glass. I duck as razor-edged shards fire past me against the rush of water. Time seems to stand still as I drop to the floor, and glass scrapes my cheeks and my hands.
I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for the chaos to pass.
It takes a few seconds for everything to settle into stillness. I peer up to find everyone on the floor, knocked off their feet, flattened in an inch of water.
Rook lies passed out, slumped in a heap, his body limp and lifeless.
I’m up in an instant, stumbling over my steps and falling on top of him. “Rook!” I shake his shoulders before I press my ear to his chest. Nothing. No breath. No pulse. I tell myself not to panic. I need to fucking hold it together right now.
I rise to my knees and begin chest compressions before I tip his head back and blow into his mouth, thankful that my Storm Guard training included lessons in basic first aid.
As I work, I’m only partially aware of people moving around me. Navy at my side. A struggle in the background between Sol, her Guards, and the Fog.
My father’s hand on my back as tears stream down my cheeks.
For once, I don’t recoil from his touch.
Maybe it’s a mark of how much I’ve changed that I don’t feel anything at all.
“Wake up. Wake up,” I repeat over and over as I try to jump-start Rook’s heart. “Please. Please. I can’t do this without you.”
Shots fire, pinging against the wall and the ceiling.
The Fog is still fighting the general and her Guards.
I listen for Rook’s pulse. Feel for his breath. Still nothing.
“Wake up!” I scream before I resume compressions and then blow into his mouth again. He’s fading. I can feel it. How much longer until we can’t get him back?
I’ll never forgive myself. I don’t know how I’ll go on knowing I was the reason for his death. It should have been me. I should never have trusted Sol. I should never have let him come back here.
I know he wanted the cure, but he did it for me because I couldn’t let go of this place.
And then, when he could have left, he stayed for me.
I should have told him to go home that night at the rock wall.
I should have insisted on finding the cure without him.
One. Two. Three.
I press and press, then blow into his mouth again. Sweat drips into my eyes, sliding off the tip of my nose. Or maybe that’s my tears. I’m not really sure anymore. My breath stutters, choking out in tight gasps.
Please. Please. Please.
I grow weak. Dizzy.
Someone offers to step in, but I practically growl at whoever it is to back off.
Rook is mine.
He is mine to fix.
To save.
He is mine to bring back into this world.
Then . . . he coughs.
Air rushes into my lungs, and we both start breathing again.
Water sputters from his mouth, and he groans.
My father is at my side, rolling Rook into a rescue position as he hacks up bile. Thank Skies. He’s fucking breathing.
“Rook,” I sob, kneeling over him, not sure if I should touch him, even though I want to wrap him in my arms and never let go again.
Another few seconds pass, and then his eyes slowly open.
“I was so scared,” I whisper, pressing my face to his cheek.
He moans and reaches for me, his fingers fluttering against a loose strand of my hair.
“You’re alive,” I whisper.
I take his hand, clutch it to my chest, and just drag in a series of long, relieved breaths.
A shot rings out overhead, striking the ceiling with a sharp ping, bringing me back to the moment. I instinctively throw myself over Rook’s body, worried about losing him to a stray bullet moments after pulling him back from the brink of . . .
Well . . . I can’t think about how close he was to the end.
“We’d better get out of here,” my father says. He takes Rook’s arm and helps him sit up, then hauls him to his feet. For a moment, I can’t seem to move. Why is he helping? Why is he here?
I recall what he said to General Sol only a few moments ago.
Just try to take her. Just fucking try.
Who is this man?
Rook is pale and struggling to keep his balance. He leans against my father, his legs unable to support his weight.
“How are we going to get him out of here?” Navy asks. “He can’t walk.”
“We’ll help him.” Henry appears at my side, and he takes Rook’s other arm, slinging it over his shoulder so he’s suspended between them.
“This way,” Henry says. “The others will deal with the general’s Guard and follow. Let’s head back the way we came.” Then he calls over his shoulder. “Someone get the drive from the computer. It should be finished downloading!”
Justin quickly crosses the room, yanks out the drive, and then pockets it. I scan the space, finding Danica and Brooklyn, along with the rest of the Fog, holding off the Circle Guard. I don’t want to leave them, but they’ll be close behind.
I frown when I realize General Sol is no longer in the room.
Where did she run off to?
Dr. Mowry huddles in the corner, his arms thrown over his head, clearly trying to avoid being noticed.
I consider what we should do with him, but he’s no longer useful to us, and he can figure out what comes next on his own.
Once the chancellors discover his betrayal, I doubt he’ll be long for this world.
After his complicity in this horror, he deserves everything that’s coming to him.
“Let’s go!” Henry shouts.
We head back through the tunnels before reentering the room full of tanks.
The network. The very idea makes my skin crawl.
“We need proof,” I say, pulling my phone from my pocket. “We have to show them what The Shield was doing.”
Swallowing my distaste, I start recording as I walk down the rows bathed in a wash of amethyst light. I move in close to their faces, hoping people might recognize their loved ones. I’m sure their families have spent years wondering what happened to them. Maybe we can offer them closure.
Though I don’t know what’s worse. Not knowing, or this.
I walk quickly, scanning each row.
I understand we need to keep moving, but it feels like I need to honor every single one. I blow out a strangled breath when I spot a few children who never got the chance to grow up.
It just gets more and more awful.
“We have to find a way to shut this down,” Henry says.
“Most of the city will lose power,” my father says.
“I don’t care. We can’t allow this to continue.”
My father nods, and they carefully prop Rook against a wall, where he bends over with his hands braced on his knees. He’s already looking a little better, thanks to the color returning to his pale cheeks.
“These poor people,” Navy whispers, covering her mouth, tears filling her eyes. “How do we help them?”
“I’m not sure we can,” Justin answers. “Do you think they’re . . . in pain?”
We all glance at Rook, who’s still breathing heavily.
“Did you feel it?” I ask, scared to hear the answer.
He pauses before speaking. “I was . . . aware,” he says, clutching a hand to his chest like it hurts to talk. “It felt like I was empty. Like there was nothing of me left, just this . . . shell. It was a strange kind of agony, knowing I was trapped, but unable to move or do anything about it.
“And every few minutes, I’d feel a pulse of Spark.”
He hesitates again, clearly gathering his thoughts. I approach and drop to my heels, peering up into his face.
“What happened?” I ask, laying a hand on his knee.
“It was like that moment when we touch Spark . . . only it lasted so much longer. That pain. That agony tearing through me.” His voice catches on the last few words. Then he whispers, “It was endless.”
“Oh, Rook,” I say, tucking back a piece of his hair. “I’m so sorry.”
“Do you think it’s the same for them?” Navy asks carefully.
We all turn our gazes to the tanks and the helpless people floating inside.
“I don’t know,” Rook answers.
Even if it’s only a fraction of that same torturous pain, I can’t imagine what it must be like to endure that every day for years.
“Skies,” I whisper, then shake my head. “We don’t just need to shut it down. We need to destroy it. We have to find a way to stop them from ever doing this again.”
“How?” Navy asks.
“Does Edward have an idea?” I ask Henry.
I push myself back up and start recording again, tilting my camera at various angles to capture everything. The computers. The electrical panels. The wires running from the tanks and across the ceiling.
I want proof of everything.
I want there to be no doubt about what happened here.
More people, more faces, more innocent lives stolen. And then I round a corner and freeze.
My blood turns cold, and my stomach drops to my feet.
My heart stops.
Stutters.
Skips a beat.
Raine.