The trudge down the hallway is dark, pitiful, and tragic. I pass other prisoners who somehow made it out and curl up in their cages—howling as they attempt to get some sleep.
“I’m so sorry…” I whisper to Niklaus again, though I believe he passed out from the pain. I should hope so. At least it’s a bit of relief.
Every muscle vibrates and screams in distress, stretching and swelling from the overexertion of carrying his soaking wet weight. I trip, crashing to my knees, and gritting my teeth as the sharply textured brimstone floors cut into the skin of my knees.
“Almost there,” I say to him and myself.
Droplets of sweat run over my brows and into the corners of my eyes as I nearly pop every vein bearing down to stand up again.
I manage to get one foot on the ground.
Good, Sapphire.
Each breath is a match struck and snuffed—hot, quick, shallow. I put all my weight into my left thigh to lift myself, just enough to get the other foot planted again.
One, two, three!
My spine is a rope pulled taut, and it nearly snaps as I fold forward again. It takes everything I have not to yelp, fighting now to let his mass collapse on top of me. The muscles in my core turn molten, burning and pinching my ribs.
I blow the wet hair out of my face and try again.
This time, the task feels impossible. I grate my molars back and forth, building a balloon of pressure behind my eyes as I slump forward again.
“Fuck!” I hiss.
I’m another failed attempt from falling to the ground and sobbing until I pass out.
Niklaus might as well be a mountain on my back.
He went through hell shielding me from that shower. And I can’t even carry him back to our cage so he can suffer in private.
Krimson could do this without question. My dad? Absolutely. Even my mom could probably carry Niklaus back.
I am a fucking colossal disappointment to everyone! Fuck!
Dad! Oh, please! Wherever you are, please lend me your strength. Help me carry Niklaus a little longer.
No one responds in my head the way Dellilian would. But there’s a rush, like a supercharged river power-housing through my chest, stampeding through my nervous system. It’s a familiar glow of warmth. The same sensation I get when I hug my mom. When I’m angry and Krimson finds me sitting alone outside. Or when Uncle Warrose places a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
It’s all of that, and an implosion of confidence.
I know I can lift him. I know I can make it back.
Clamping down my teeth and every muscle, I force myself up to both feet and continue marching forward. There’s blood coming from my heels and knees. I’m drenched in sweat. And my legs are numb to the touch.
But I keep going.
“How is he?!” Sophia asks as I limp into Niklaus’s cage.
She helps balance his weight as I slip out from under his chest, quivering as I lower him to the ground. Before his upper body lies flat, I wedge myself under him. His face is cradled in my lap. His arms draping around my hips.
“It’s a temporary acid. They call it Jester Mist. He should heal up by tomorrow night,” Sophia whispers, patting me on the shoulder. “You did so good, carrying your husband so far and on your back…”
Tears well in my eyes, but I don’t let them fall.
I didn’t do it alone.
She scampers back to her cage, then returns with a finger to her mouth.
