I think I’m floating… or maybe sinking.
My body is here, somewhere, but I can’t reach it. I can’t stop myself from drowning in the reality of my mind.
Then… light.
A shudder of motion.
Something touches me.
I try to move, but my body lags, heavy and slow, like my limbs are made of lead. Cold air slaps my face. For a minute, the colours around me dissolve, and I see a man. A stranger—too close, too real. He leans over me, his eyes an impossible blue that cuts through the blur. I try to say something,anything, but the words die before they fall out. My tongue is also a weight I cannot lift.
The world folds in on itself again as more shapes move around me. I can’t tell what is real and what isn’t. I reach out for something to cling onto, the floor, trees—anything to bridgethe gap between myself and this abyss, but my limbs feel so unbelievably fucking heavy. The only sensation running through my fingers is a strong tingle. I could imagine the very fabric of my being humming if it could talk.
With great effort, my eyelids open a slit before the weights drag them back down again. My brain can’t comprehend the shapes moving around me, and I can’t tell if the spinning motion is actually my body moving or just my mind swimming with the Earth’s rotation. Nothing makes sense; a single thought in my mind is fragmented into a billion tiny pieces that disintegrate before they have a chance to come into fruition, like a gun fired with no bullets—all hard edges and threatening potential with no real danger, no real ability to actually hurt someone. That’s me, A dismantled weapon. Right now in this state, I am vulnerable, which really fucking scares me.
My eyelids roll again, just for a second. Shapes continue to move past the blur in my vision. A dark fabric of some kind.
They roll again—a pair of Eyes. Deep blue, the same eyes I saw earlier, with furrowed brows. I really make an effort to hold my eyelids open for more than a fraction of a second this time, and the world comes back in pieces, an abstract impossible to understand all at once—light flickering through the trees, the rush of the wind in my ears, the dull pounding in my head. The world is still moving around me, but I don’t feel it. Not really. Like there is a wall of cling film restricting me from breaking through, it stretches with my hands and doesn’t rip. I am too numb to reality, like a separate part of myself. A screwdriver tossed aside from the toolbox, so close yet so distant, like I have sunk too deep into a dream and cannot claw my way out.
There is a warmth beneath me—solid arms, steady breath. My body jolts every other second like I am in the arms of someone taking heavy steps.
I am sure I’m being carried.
And that someone is running, holding me close against their chest.
My cheek is pinned tightly against rough fabric, my body boneless in his grip.
I blink, forcing my eyes open just a little more. Trees blur past in streaks of amber, and green as the unrest of the forest slinks to the surface. I can almost hear it as it whispers, singing songs of warning and danger.
Then I see him.
A man, maybe a little older than me. Though his features are mostly hidden under a dark scarf that wraps around his mouth and nose, the hood is low over his brow. But it is his eyes that truly unnerve me; focused, watchful and alive in a way that implies danger is close by. Or maybe he is the danger.
Speak Asha.
Words.
You remember those.
Just say…anything.
My tongue still feels an improbable weight, and the only muscle strong enough to make any noise in my body at this moment seems to be my heart. A small sound escapes me, barely more than a breath, and his gaze flicks down.
He sees me.
His arms tighten just slightly, like a reflex. I want to ask where my friends are, where Ryder is. But my throat burns, and the words shatter before they reach my mouth, like a wave crashing before it tastes the shore.
That flower. That strange but beautiful, glowing flower.
Its sweet pollen is still apparent in the depths of my nasal cavity. I want to fight it, whatever this is still clinging to me, dragging me down. But I can’t. My eyes close again. Heavy with sleep or poison—I can’t tell the difference.
I don’t know who he is.
I don’t know where we are going.
But I can’t do anything except lie here in his arms and wait.
Chapter Twenty-Six
