What was happening?
He could just make out the shape of a building on the other side, past the swirling shadows, and he reached cautiously toward it. His fingertips pressed against the opening, but it pressed back, solid and smooth as thick glass. He couldn’t push through.
When he turned, August was watching. His eyes jumped from Felix to the opening and back again before he held out his hand like an offering. Felix placed his in it, and August stepped carefully forward.
Wait!
Felix winced, expecting a collision as August yanked him forward. Only this time, he passed easily through, and they spilled onto the street.Hisstreet. Not the decayed version, but his actual street.
August sealed the rift behind them and pushed open the door to the pub, flattening against it to let him go first.
Felix stumbled inside and lifted his sluggish gaze toward the bar. His ma looked up and blanched when she saw them in the doorway.
“Felix!”
The pain hit him then with the force of a collapsing building—a bone-jarring, suffocating weight that stole his breath and left him gasping. His vision swam, darkening at the edges.
He clearly wasn’t dead. But something was very, very wrong.
Felix pitched forward, and his ma was beside him, helping August lead him to a booth.
“Darlin’, can you hear me?” Her voice was tinny and distant as she called for someone to send for Marlow.
The world spun, a dizzying vortex of colour and sound. Then suddenly he was flat on his back, staring up at the familiar, worn wooden beams in the ceiling.
It was too much. Too bright. Too loud. Felix’s head throbbed and his stomach churned.
He struggled fiercely to remain conscious, and for a short time, it worked. The room was a burst of motion. His ma shouted something he couldn’t make out through the white noise in his ears and, moments later, someone placed something in her hand.
Cool, damp fabric against his face.
Keep your eyes open,he ordered, as if he could use his compulsion against his own body.
He wasn’t dying tonight.
He wasn’t dying.
He wasn’t—with a shuddering groan, Felix curled in on himself, his stomach twisting violently, and his throat burned as he vomited a thick, black sludge onto the floor.
There was barely time to register the horror of it before the world went dark.
Marlow pushed through the crowd, thoughts buzzing as she headed toward Hatha House. Maybe Aine would be at home waiting, and she’d give Marlow a hard time for being such a worrier. It was possible Ciaran was right, and Marlowwasoverreacting. Maybe joining the resistance had made her paranoid.
She glanced around the crowd, hoping to see a familiar face. Just one of the missing wielders, and she could breathe easy. But she knew better. She knew she was right.
She also knew none of this was helping anyone. The questioning was a waste of time. Months of disappearances, months of chasing answers, and she still had nothing to show for it.
Another resistance member gone. Not a coincidence. These weren’t helpless wielders; they were sharp, seasoned fighters. Someone was targeting them. And the letters from the other cities confirmed they hadn’t turned up there.
Aine was gone because of Marlow’s failure to solve this—and because of Raesarinn’s inaction. She was a great leader. Acautious leader. But the resistance could stand to take a few risks.
Felix didn’t mind risks, as long as they were planned out beforehand. He must have gotten it from his da.
Marlow bit the inside of her cheek and looked down at her boots as she padded down the wide street. That wasn’t fair, and she knew it. Being leader of the resistance was already a massive risk. Owning the building they gathered in, even more so. Petra Connolly was as brave as they come. Marlow was just frustrated and lashing out.
Felix would find something. As long as he didn’t get distracted.
Sometimes she wished she could shake him until he turned back into the Felix she used to know. The boy who’d rather pick a fight than suck up to the type of people who’d turn him in if they knew the truth. She admired his drive to fix the world, but there were times he looked so worn out, so broken, she feared he was losing himself.
