“I think Seasons used to work together,” I explain. “In pairs. Groups, even. I don’t know exactly how, but I have a theory that the polarities between us and our connections to the ley lines form a circuit.
“When Amber and I fight, a chemical reaction between us causes a discharge of energy every time we touch. At the end of her season, she’s weaker than I am—negatively charged. She takes the hit of my positive charge whenever we make contact. But that energy doesn’t feed her. It flowsthroughher to the next point along the circuit—into the ley lines—taking the last of her power with it until she burns out.”
“A dead battery,” Woody says, passing the drawing to Amber.
“Exactly.” I let out a held breath. Poppy leans in, reluctantly looking over Amber’s shoulder. “If we eliminate the ley line, we close the loop. Our bodies will redirect their charges back to one another, creating a circular flow. As one Season strengthens, it recharges the other, until we eventually balance out.”
“How?” Woody asks.
“Sustained contact between the polarities.” They all give me quizzical looks. “We hold each other.”
Amber’s jaw drops. She looks away, her face flaming.
“How do you even know it will work?” Poppy asks.
“Amber and I charged each other during a sparring match last week.”
“For, like, two seconds!” she says, folding her arms over her chest.
“It worked for Jack and Fleur, too,” Chill adds. “Their transmitters were off. She kept Jack alive just long enough for me to find him and channel him home. The only reason he isn’t in the wind is because she wouldn’t let go.”
Poppy holds herself, paling as she sags against a crate. All her questions about what went wrong with our transmitters on the mountain are finally being answered, but her sickened expression tells me she wishes she didn’t know.
“Then how do you explain the no-kissing thing?” Amber asks. She shrinks back from the question when we all turn to gape at her.
“I’ve been thinking about that, too.” My cheeks warm when their raised eyebrows turn to me. “I think a kiss acts as a catalyst. It speeds up the chemical reaction—”
“Creating a path of low resistance, until the weaker of the Seasons shorts out,” Chill adds.
Woody nods. “So as long as there’s no kissing, everyone’s cool.”
“No!” Amber and I say in unison. Our eyes catch. I finish for the both of us.
“Once we close the loop, it should be possible to balance the load. As long as we’re balanced, no one shorts out.”
“So as long as you’re paired with a different Season—one with different powers—you can balance each other,” Woody says, catching on. “Then you can move freely without disrupting the weather or hurting each other.”
“That’s why the Guards can go anywhere without being detected,” I explain. “They have the power of all four seasons. Their magic is inherently balanced.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, they’re designed that way for a reason,” Amber says. “To make it easier for them tohuntus. There’s no way they’ll let us just disappear out there.”
“It’s only four of us,” I point out. “There are hundreds of regions around the globe. We’re small potatoes, blips on a radar map. Any impact we have would be limited to a radius of a few hundred miles from wherever we are. So we keep moving. We don’t stay in one place long enough to cause any real damage, and after a while, they’ll all give up and stop looking for us. We could hide anywhere.”
“That’s great for both of you, but what about us?” Poppy pushes herself off the crate, anger coloring her cheeks. “Yourmagic comes from Gaia. Shegaveit to you. It existsinsideyou, which makes it a whole lot easier tosteal,” she says, piling theft onto our list of crimes. “But what happens tousout there?”
“Poppy’s right,” Chill says. “Handlers don’t have any magic of our own. Chronos controls our immortality, and as far as he’s concerned, it’s just a fringe benefit of the job we do. If we’re lucky enough to make it out of here, we have to assume we’ll age at a normal rate, same as Lyon. Same as all the retired staff and faculty do.” The Handlers exchange sober looks.
Amber shakes her head. She backs toward the door, taking Woody by the arm. “No. Absolutely not. We’re out.”
Woody plants his feet. He holds my gaze, a fervor in his eyes. “I want to go with you.”
Amber gapes at him. “You heard Chill! There’s no guarantee how long you’ll have out there. You could get hit by a bus or get mugged or die of the flu!” She holds up a hand, signaling the end of the conversation.“No!Igo out into the big dangerous world.Youstay here where it’s safe so you can take care of me.”
Woody rounds on her. “Would you stop thinking about yourself for once!”
Amber’s lips part. She inhales shallowly, as if it hurts to breathe.
Woody’s voice falls soft, pleading. “When was the last time you saw the sun?”
