Another try. The cursor blinks. No letters appear.
“Come on,” I whisper, tears pricking hot. “Please?—”
My phone buzzes in my useless hand.
KIERAN
Rules?
Wren?
I can’t make my fingers work. Can’t tell him.Can’t?—
Kieran, please find me, please?—
“Stop,” I say, and it comes out as a whimper. “Need—Kieran?—”
“Shh.” His hand slides lower on my hip. “You’re okay. Just lean on me.”
We reach the stairs. The steps stretch up, impossibly steep.
I try to drop my weight, try to make myself heavy, unmovable. My legs buckle. I grab for the railing with numb fingers but miss completely.
He hauls me up the first step anyway, arm locked around my waist, taking my full weight.
No. Not up. Don’t go up.
I try to hook my foot around the banister, try to grab anything, but my body won’t cooperate. My ankle drags uselessly over the edge of the step.
“Come on,” he mutters, and there’s irritation creeping into his voice now. The helpful mask is slipping.
He drags me up another step. My knee hits the wood, sharp pain cutting through the fog.
The bass thuds distant and muffled. The colors that usually dance are gone—no pink, no gold, no silver. Just creeping, encroaching white at the edges, eating everything.
I try to twist out of his grip. My muscles won’t cooperate. It’s like moving through wet sand.
My vision tunnels.
For a split second, I see it in horrible detail: his arm clamped around my waist, my phone clutched uselessly, black swallowing me.
27
BREAK THE GLASS (KIERAN)
The blender hits the counter so hard something cracks. The sound punches through the music like a gunshot.
“Jesus Christ.” I push Riley aside and grab the two sophomores mid-shove. “You want stitches? Put the knives down.”
They freeze. The room deflates.
I glance toward the hallway where I left Wren. The idea of her here without me sits sharp and wrong in my chest.
“I’m heading back,” I tell them.
Riley nods. “We got this.”
I push into the crowd, scanning for a messy ponytail, an oversized hoodie, the soft curve of her shoulder against the wall.
