“You found us. I can’t believe you really found us.” Her words are slow, a tad slurred; she and Sloane are clearly still under the effects of whatever drugs have been pumped into them for years.
Honestly, it’s a miracle either of them is on their feet and talking.
“We’re not out of the woods yet,” I say, and leave it at that.
Sloane and Aisha don’t protest or fuss. Sloane beckons for Aisha to sit on the ledge next to the chamber and begins to remove the tube from down her nose.
I pulled a dozen tubes from each of them, but watching someone else do it makes me queasy. Maybe that or the fact I have to do it all two more times.
I approach the first chamber on the other side of the room. Two options. I’m not sure which is worse. The little brother who wrapped his tiny hand around my finger after he was born. Or the boy who brought me back to life, the one I think I might—
It’s Jasper. Everything in me sinks at the sight of him. He looks exactly as he did a few days ago, apart from the addition of the wires and the tube down his throat.
I swallow back my nausea. He’s alive.
This time, Sloane and Aisha keep their focus on the monitor, giving quick updates with each needle I pull from the skin.
It’s easier to think of it, of him, as skin and muscle and bone than to accept that it’s my baby brother. I don’t let my gaze wander higher than his lips and only let it go that far to pull the tube out.
By the time his eyes flutter open, I am exhausted, my adrenaline well past its peak and beginning a slow leak out of me.
Jasper blinks, dazed. He has deep bruises around his wrists, like he was grabbed hard or cuffed. But he’s mostly unharmed.
“Jo?” he asks in a tiny voice, the one he uses when he seeks me out at night after having nightmares.
“Hey,” I say, sweeping the sweaty hair off his forehead. “It’s me.”
He frowns, straining to sit up, looking around the room. His nostrils flare, eyes widening to the whites, and I make a shush sound, guiding him up with my hands.
“Hey, hey, it’s all right,” I say. “You’re all right. I’m going to get you out of here.”
He shakes his head. Tears well in his big brown eyes, spilling down his cheeks.
“Jo, Mr.Holden was outside the house, and he grabbed me—”
“Shh,” I say, pulling him close. I’m taking too long and I know it, but I can’t stop myself from taking five seconds. Five seconds to hold him and tell him everything is going to be okay, even if that turns out to be a lie.
But after five seconds, I pull back.
I take him by the shoulders, and say, “I need you to be brave right now. Can you do that for me?”
His lips part. “Jo, I’m scared.”
Tears burn the backs of my eyes. I blink them back.
“I know you are, Bubs. I am, too. But we can be brave together, okay?”
I help him out of the chamber. He eyes Sloane and Aisha warily but doesn’t protest when Sloane takes his hand and guides him against her side.
One vat left. I know what I’m going to find when I peer through the glass, but it doesn’t make the pain in my chest any less sharp.
Finn. Eyes closed, sweat-dampened curls pressed to his forehead, a tube protruding from his lips.
Out of the four, Finn has the tightest grip on death. The fact he isn’t solidly in its arms is a miracle.
He’s more bruise than skin, and thin. The Finn I knew was no bodybuilder, but he had a lean, muscular look to him. Now he’s just lean.
“Finn,” I whisper, pressing my palm to the glass.
