Get a grip, Mara, you’re two thousand miles above sea level.
I take in the damage on autopilot. I’m out of my harness and dangling halfway out of the windshield. Left arm pinned beneath debris. My legs are free, but my right ankle throbs with a steady pulse that suggests nothing good.
And my chest. God, my ribs… And my belly. Each breath feels like someone’s driving a knife right through me.
I’ve had broken nails that made me whine for days. This… this is beyond words.
Don’t pass out. Don’t you dare pass out.
“Ember?” My voice comes out wrong. Hoarse, weak. “Luke?”
No answer.
Terror claws up my throat, sharp enough to cut through the pain. They were right there—Ember beside me, Luke in the pilot’s seat. The helicopter flipped during impact. I remember that much. The world spinning, gravity becoming suggestion rather than law, my harness cutting into my chest hard enough to crack something before it came loose as the metal holding it tore free.
But after that?
Nothing.
I crane my neck, trying to see through the thickening smoke. Every movement costs me. My left shoulder grinds against something that feels like bone fragments. I taste bile, swallow it down with effort.
“Ember!” Louder this time. It sets off a coughing fit that makes my ribs feel like they’re trying to saw through my lungs.
Still nothing.
The cabin’s layout is all wrong now. What should be floor is wall. The pilot’s seat hangs at an impossible angle, harness dangling empty. Luke’s not there. Neither is Ember. Her seat’s been ripped clean away, leaving just twisted metal and frayed safety straps.
They got out.
They had to get out.
I’m the one who’s trapped.
Somewhere to my left, I hear groaning metal. The helicopter shifts, slips. My stomach lurches with it. I know what that sound means—the wreckage is moving… fast. Preparing to finish what the crash started.
Move. You have to move.
I try to twist free from the metal that has me trapped. Pain screams through my chest as I move, and something warm trickles down my ribcage, soaking into my shirt. I scream without realizing it, then bite back the sound. Fuck. It hurts! But now’s not the time to lose control. I have to get out of here.
Phone. Where’s my phone?
The pocket where I kept it is empty except for torn fabric. Probably crushed or flung somewhere in the crash. A crazy thought flits through my mind: what a waste of content. The footage would’ve been epic.
God, I’m messed up.
So messed up that when I catch sight of the dark screen glinting in the wreckage beside me, I reach out, curl my fingers around the familiar shape.
Heat builds suddenly, coming from somewhere behind me. Not the residual warmth of impact, but something active.Growing. The chemical smell intensifies, mixing with something sweeter. Fuel.
Oh, no!
Something pops overhead, a sharp, electrical crack that makes my pulse spike. I look up.
Fire.
Small, for now. Dancing across exposed wiring near what’s left of the console. Blue-orange flames licking at melted plastic, feeding on whatever they find. The smoke shifts color—from gray to black, from black to something tinged with orange.
“Help!” I scream it this time, raw and desperate. “Somebody help me!”
