I look up.
Effa is on a gurney with an oxygen mask attached, and the sight… it punches the air from my lungs. They wheel her toward the exit, and reality crashes back in, but my body feels disconnected—too heavy, too numb.
Andi wipes her face. “I’ll make sure Alana’s with her. I’ll come back for you.”
Those words snap me the fuck out of it.
“No, I’m going with her.” I push to my feet but sway. “Find the others.”
She nods.
I follow the gurney, moving beside Effa.
She looks like she’s asleep.
Peaceful.
Too peaceful.
I grab her hand.
Nothing.
No squeeze.
No twitch.
I brush hair off her forehead and look at the medic. “How bad is it?”
“We’ll know more once we get scans done. We need to check brain activity.”
Brain activity.
The words hollow me out.
Was she without oxygen too long?
Brain-dead.
Disabled.
Never sing again.
A vegetable.
My stomach twists violently.
How the fuck did this happen?
What the fuck did Jett do?
Rage surges hot and vicious. I want to tear that asshole apart, but I want to do it slowly for this… but not now.
Right now, she needs me, so I tighten my grip on her hand.
Whatever damage is done.
Whatever hell is coming.
