Gone.
Something inside me cracks, loud and violent, like a splitting bone.
My vision blurs at the edges.
My lungs seize.
My knees lock as if trying to hold me upright against a tsunami of grief.
But they can’t.
My world tilts.Hard.
A ringing starts in my ears, shrill, piercing, drowning out the shouted orders from firefighters, the sirens, the chaos. Mystomach twists, a brutal wrench like I’ve been punched in the gut by a heavyweight, and suddenly I’m choking on air that won’t go down.
No.
No, no, no!
My throat tightens.
My tongue tastes like smoke and metal.
My heartbeat is a rapid-fire pulse that feels too fast, too loud, too wrong.
The smell hits me next.
Burned wood.
Melted plastic.
Human loss.
It hits my body like a sledgehammer. My hands shake violently as I stumble backward, one, two steps, before my knees give, and I hit the ground. Grass and dirt rush up to meet me, and I barely get my hands braced before the first heave tears out of me.
It’s not a neat gag.
It’s a full-body revolt.
My stomach claws upward, my ribs contracting so hard it feels as though they might crack. Vomit spills onto the grass, hot and acidic, and another wave hits before I can even breathe.
“Easy, brother.” Sin is suddenly beside me, voice rough, hand steady between my shoulder blades. “Get it out. You’re all right. I’ve got you.”
But I’m not all right.
I can feel the tremor in my arms, the burn in my throat, the pounding in my skull. I taste bile and smoke. My eyes sting. My breath stutters in ragged, broken bursts as my body fights to empty itself of everything it can’t hold—fear, grief, shock, horror.
I spit, cough, gag again.
Another heave.
Another spasm.
My body is trying to purge the whole fucking world.
Sin keeps his hand on my back, solid, grounding, quiet except for the occasional soft words of comfort, “Easy… you’re okay… breathe, brother… breathe.”
I try, but breathing feels wrong.
