“You okay?” Ryder asks me, destroying the brambles in his wake. I guess he’s finally speaking.
I nod my head even though I am not, and he knows it. None of us are.
“Do you need any help?” I ask, and he smirks, the veins in his hands pulsing with the heavy beat of his heart.
“You just want to hold the sword, don’t you?” his smirk lengthens as he slows the blade.
“I was thinking more of a distraction… but now that you mention it.” I eye up the sword, its blade glistening even in the dull of the shade.
“Knock yourself out.” Ryder passes it to me with a kind of careless grace, as if the steel were nothing more than a ribbon caught on his fingers.
My hands hesitate just before touching the smooth handle, but Ryder gives me a look of encouragement. The moment it rests in my grip, every carved ridge and indent seems to dance beneath my fingertips.
From that first contact, I know it’s different—like nothing I’ve ever felt. And suddenly, the weight of the legends of Salem heavy.
It feels unnaturally weightless, as if it were made just for me.
Even though my powers are nonexistent in the Hollow, I can hear the faint hum of the metal, as if an electric current runs through it. The pulse vibrates through my bones and travels up my body. Even my eyes feel like they’re shaking, ebbing with a strange, ethereal flow.
I open my mouth to speak, but suddenly, no words fit the magnitude of what I am feeling. Ryder notices my loss of words and chuckles.
“It suits you.” He scratches his eyebrow, then gestures to the thick brush ahead. “Care to do the honours?”
“Stand back,” I warn, raising my eyebrows slightly.
“Oh, she means business,” Ryder says, admiration flickering in his eyes as they dance over my appearance. How he can still look at me like that when I’m a complete mess, I don’t know. Mud and dirt stain my clothes, and my hair is a full-on disaster.
“Don’t have to tell me twice—I’ve seen what she can do with a knife,” River laughs again, and I can’t help my eyes from glaring at him. “Don’t mind me, I’ll just be over here.” He lifts his hands in surrender, backing up a few steps, urging a small smile out of me.
I let out a long breath, feeling the subtle rage beneath my skin, then hack at the brush in strong, steady swipes. The steel slices through the twigs as if they were butter. My pace quickens, and with every strike, my pent-up anger pours out. Fast. Sharp. Relentless.
The Trial…Hack.
The Hollow…Hack.
The serum…Hack.
The mountain…Hack.
“Remind me not to piss you off,” Ryder mutters, acknowledging the violence in my swings.
Oriah…Hack.
But then the brambles twist in my vision, and suddenly the blade I see is the knife sinking into my chest. I freeze, breath hitching. My first instinct is to squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head to scatter the image.
Deep breaths.
It’s not real.
My eyes drift open.
And it’s gone.
The brush is just a brush again, the sword just a sword, but the echo of that memory still trembles at the edges of my mind. Ryder’s concerned eyes burn into the side of my head, but I don’t look at him.
“Maybe I should take this,” he says gently, easing the sword from my grip with careful, deliberate hands. It takes a moment for my thoughts to catch up to his actions, but when they do, I brush my hands against my leggings, trying to diffuse the sweat on my palms.
“I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” Tears prickle in my eyes, but I blink them away.
