Gemma swallowed hard, blinking back the sting in her eyes.
Theo’s hand shot out, gripping her wrist with surprising strength. “Don’t . . . let them make you a monster,” he murmured. “You hear me? You’re still . . . you. Don’t let them take that.”
His hand went slack.
“No, no, no,” Gemma muttered, tossing her gaze around the room for anything that could help. “Stay with me, Theo.”
But his gaze was already glassing over. He looked at Nadine one last time, and hardness in his expression softened into something like peace.
His chest stilled.
Gemma froze, her hands clamped to his abdomen as if she could force life back into him through sheer will. Around her, Tent City was silent. And then Nadine’s sob broke through the hush, raw and keening, as she folded over Theo’s still body.
Gemma’s palms burned with the warmth of his blood, and yet she had never felt so cold. Her hands shook violently as that familiar tingle began to prickle in her fingertips. The soft violet tattoo on her forearm glimmered faintly in the dim light. She clenched her teeth, trying to will it away, her vision blurring at the edges. But the light within her skin grew brighter.
“It’s true,” Polly whispered, her eyes widening in fear.
Gemma jumped when Christian appeared at her side. His hand found her lower back. “Deep breaths.” His voice was low, careful.
She shook her head, strands of her dark hair sticking to her forehead. “I should’ve saved him. I—if I’d been faster, if I’d had more—”
“You did everything you could.”
Her chest began to thrum, surging higher in her throat. Her pulse raced, uneven, as the air around her seemed to thicken. Her senses heightened, a violet film coating her vision. Time began to slow.
She looked down at her trembling hands—that were glowing as bright as an electrolamp.
Christian reached out, closing his fingers over hers. His touch was steady, grounding. “Gem, look at me.”
“I can’t . . . I can’t control it.” Her voice broke.
“Yes, you can. Breathe with me. Just breathe.”
Her chest heaved, ragged. The bright light in her palms wavered but did not diminish. Nadine lifted her head, eyes swollen but sharp as she registered what was happening. She reached across Theo’s body and took Gemma’s other hand.
Between them, the storm inside Gemma tugged in two directions, threatening to spill out but anchored by the people holding her fast. She shut her eyes tight.
One breath.
Two.
Three.
Four.
When she opened them again, the glow had dulled. The violet film over her eyes was gone, and time had righted itself.
Gemma sagged back on her heels, and the two people she loved most flanked her in silence. For a long moment, none of them spoke. Only the quiet drip of blood from the table to the stone floor could be heard in every corner of the camp.
That night, Gemma lay curled on the cot beside Christian, eyes open wide long after his breathing had settled into the rhythm of sleep. She kept seeing Theo’s face—gray, slack, and gone. She kept feeling the heat in her hands, the way it had built, unbidden and desperate to spill free.
Eventually, exhaustion won.
She was back in Zion, the crowd pressing in, their faces contorted in fury, screaming at her in a roar so loud that she couldn’t decipher the words.
Gemma’s knees hit the floor as she cupped her ears with her hands. She curled in on herself, terror and sorrow and guilt clawing at her heart. Her palms began to glow.No, no, please, no.
Her violet tattoo came alive, burning like fire and crawling higher and higher until the light licked across her chest, up her throat, into her face.
