Her heart clenched. Her friends. They were fighting for their lives because of her. If she hadn’t existed, none of this would have happened. George wouldn’t have been hurt on his first day in the pottery training session. Andrew wouldn’t have nearly fallen through the floor of her greenhouse. Edmundlooked exhausted—hollowed out by the weight of everything, and she had added to that burden. Juliette’s scream from earlier echoed in her mind—Juliette, warm and full of life, yet she could already be gone.
They’d all have been better off without her. Happier if they’d never met her. They didn’t need her. They shouldn’twanther.
Then—Andrew’s blue eyes flashed through her memory, cutting briefly through the fog. Her breath caught.
The man stalked closer; his palm glowed faintly. A Ventus Summoner. Washedoing this? Was he weaving these thoughts into her mind, bending her emotions like wind through reeds?
She went to lift her palm in defense and felt the tightening of the scarred skin. So much pain. She had experienced so much pain.She lowered it, trembling. So much suffering and fear. Choking, drowning, fire. Every agony she’d endured pressed against her chest.
She didn’t want to fight anymore. Shecouldn’t.
Despair poured over her like water, heavy and cold. It would be better if she ended it—if she gave herself up.
Edmund had sacrificed himself for her when he conjured that storm. Andrew, when he’d stood his ground atop the university roof. Juliette and George—her light, his kindness. She couldn’t bear to let them suffer because of her any longer.
Slowly, Isla stepped out from behind the tree. Her heart was steady, unnervingly calm. The man with the missing boots lifted his hand, lightning coiling in his hands, palms aimed straight at her heart.
He looked satisfied. And she felt ... peace.
She was doing thisfor them.Once she was gone, the fighting would end. They would be safe.
She hesitated for just a heartbeat, doubt flickering—she had so much left to live for—didn’t she? But then that strange pull in her ribs—that unnatural tug—drew her forward again, toward the man, toward the end.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Andrew had to get to Isla.
Juliette lay unconscious on the boat, Jimmy hunched over her, shielding her with his body. Edmund was still firing off bursts of lightning, but the infernal punt kept spinning, and he was looking greener by the minute.
He and George managed a few shots of their own, keeping the Aetherians on the bank ducking behind their mounds of earth. For a few moments, pandemonium reigned, and Andrew poured every ounce of strength into staying alive. It was total carnage.
But Isla...
He couldn’t stop the other Aqua. No Aetherian could completely halt another’s elemental flow—their energies were like opposing currents, pushing but never quite canceling out. What hecoulddo was counterbalance it.
If the enemy was spinning the water clockwise, he could create a countervortex—equal force, opposite direction. Physics in motion—all he needed was precision.
He steadied his breath, feeling the pull of the water beneath the punt. “All right, then,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Hold the line, gentlemen—once this punt stops spinning, they’re done for.”
Closing his eyes for half a second, Andrew reached down through the chaos—not just the surface churn but the deeper undercurrent. The enemy’s Aqua had spun the water clockwise,a vortex of brute force, wild and erratic. He could feel the torque pulling against the boat, dragging it off-balance.
So he answered it with calculated accuracy. His palms glowed an icy blue as he sent his own current spiraling the other way. Pressure met pressure; current met countercurrent. The water heaved once, violently, before beginning to level out.
The punt shuddered beneath them, spinning slower now as the centrifugal drag eased. A fine mist sprayed up from the clash of energies before it finally settled into a steady, wavering rhythm.
“Got you,” Andrew breathed, voice low and taut. His arms trembled from the effort, but they were steady. “Now, hold.”
He felt the punt rock as Edmund moved quickly to take advantage of the now-still vessel. The detective lifted both palms to his chest, his hands glowing, and then he pushed out with the force of a stalled lorry finally jolting into motion. A powerful gust of wind roared away from them, knocking the four men on the bank flat on their backs.
“Go after Isla,” he rasped.
Andrew ran, causing the river ahead of him to freeze in places where his feet touched the surface so he didn’t sink into the cold river. He still felt a little wobbly from all the spinning, but speed drove him forward.
Once on land, he darted between the fallen enemy, one man trying and failing to grasp his ankle. His breath came fast, his pulse hammering as he sprinted into the trees—and then his heart nearly stopped. Ahead, Isla moved with unnerving calm, her gaze fixed on a man poised to strike her. She wasn’t attempting to hide or block his attacks. Why wasn’t she trying to fight him? Time seemed to slow, every rustle of leaves and snap of a twig magnifying the threat.
Andrew raced toward her, knowing that the man’s strike would reach her any moment. He dove at her to close the distance. Lightning sizzled past his back, thankfully missing Isla as they fell, though it slightly singed him, making his hair stand on end. He twisted midair and managed to break her fall ... mostly. His bony back protested loudly as it slammed into the ground and he let out a squeak, more like a startled little girl than the grunt of a hero. He felt exhausted; he wasn’t sure how much he had left to give.
He lifted his hand, sending bolt after bolt of ice streaking toward the Ventus, his fury at the man who had nearly harmed his love fueling every strike. The attacker crumpled to the ground.
