Footsteps.
Multiple sets. Running. Heavy. Fast. Getting closer.
Voices above me. Distorted. Echo-y. Like I'm at the bottom of a well and they're shouting down.
"Shit." Bane's voice. "He's really pale."
I try to respond. Try to tell him to fuck off. That I don't need his fake concern. That I don't need anything from any of them.
Nothing comes out. My mouth moves but no sound emerges. Just breath. Just air.
"What the fuck do we do?" Zero. He sounds—what? Panicked? No. Zero doesn't panic.
Unsettled, maybe.
Uncertain. A predator encountering something it can't identify. Can't categorize. Can't kill.
"Move." Atlas.
Hands slide under my arms. Lifting.
Strong hands. Steady.
I try to fight it. Try to push away. My arms are so heavy. They won't move the way I want them to.
Don't touch me.
The words stay trapped in my head.
I don't need your help.
But the words won't come. Won't form. Won't escape. They bounce around inside my skull with nowhere to go.
The world is muffled now. Cotton in my ears. Water in my lungs. Sounds distorted and far away. Like I'm underwater again. Drowning in slow motion.
I'm being lifted. Weightless. Floating. My feet leave the ground and I'm airborne. Cradled against someone's chest.
Atlas.
I can smell him. Cedar and leather and expensive bourbon. The scent that I've been trying to avoid for two weeks.
It fills my lungs. Makes my head spin worse.
Makes something deep inside me react. Respond. Wake up.
No. No no no—
Vision blurred. Shapes moving around me. Three figures. Shadows.
I blink. Try to focus.
The ceiling passes overhead. White. Blurred.
I'm being carried somewhere.
Where?
Does it matter?
