“All right—it’s all right.” Galen straightened the mask on my face. “Keep breathing, that’s it. Can you look at me? Nash?”
I gritted my teeth, forcing my awareness to Galen. He held my stare with those greener than green eyes. I swear to God, he made even Saint look beige.
Even Locke.
No.
No one had better eyes than Locke.
Than Orla.
“Nash.” Galen gripped my chin, snapping something into his radio, rolling his eyes before he sobered his gaze on me. “I’m going to be real with you—where we are, it’s pretty unstable. It’s going to be a little while before a paramedic can get close enough to assess you.”
“It’s okay.”
Galen squeezed my arm again. “It’s not okay. You’re in pain, but we can help you. I’m an upskilled firefighter, like Logan, and like Locke was back in the day. IEC—immediate emergency care. I’m no brain surgeon, but I’ve got some good drugs in this bag, and I’m—man alive, all right.”
The last part was for his radio. The rest of it jumbled in my head as Galen rummaged in a bag I belatedly noticed and took the oxygen from my face, replacing it with something else.
“Entonox. Deep breaths. It might spin you out for a few seconds, but it’s no worse than a bit of weed. That’s it. Still with me?”
Hard to tell. Whatever fuckery was in this tube, it was nothing like the sweet hit of a zoot.
My eyes rolled.
Galen kept talking, but I barely heard him, and it was a while before I could see less than three of him.
At least, it felt like a while to me.
It was still raining. I heard it. Smelt it.
Willow.
Cam.
Nicky.
“Where’s Willow?”
Galen held my gaze. “I don’t know. I got off the engine and jumped in here. I don’t know anything about anything or anyone. My priority is you.”
“Where’s Cam?”
“I don’t know. Just keep breathing?—”
He broke off again to bicker into his radio. I drifted, unable to do anything but drag my gaze around the dark, faceless space I’d apparently landed in. Metal. Blood. Rain. I wriggled the toes on the foot I could feel. Tried not to ponder the fate of the other, to imagine anything beyond my next breath.
Galen dug his fingers into my arm, forcing my eyes open. “I can’t fight him anymore. Big brother’s tagging in. Hold tight, Nash. You’re going to be okay.”
I struggled to compute what the fuck he meant, even as he disappeared from view, leaving me cold and alone on the ground.
Then a larger body filled the space he’d left behind.
Taller. Broader. Massivefeet.
A big hand landed on top of my head. “Nash? You okay down there?”
I slow-blinked, taking in the closer shave of Logan Halliwell’s jaw. The crinkly sea-green eyes that hooked me in. They were Locke’s eyes. His features. His bones. Only his hair would be different—darker—but I couldn’t see past the yellow helmet he wore.
