“What did I just give him?”
“I don’t—I have no idea.”
I swear I can feel my heart splintering against my rib cage. Tears burn and blur my vision, but Finn’s lifeless form isn’t an image I want to focus on, let alone remember. I stare at the empty syringe in my hand. There are no identifying markers apart from a small printed letter. Not anE. AD.
I tug the sensors from his chest, and the infernal shriekingstops. Like I need any more reminders I’ve failed. Like his lifeless body isn’t enough.
The flatline vanishes from the panel, ceasing its taunting. The alarm may have stopped overhead, but Holden must know something is wrong. He must be on his way, if he isn’t already here, heading down the cement hallway.
And Finn is dead.
The sob I’ve been holding at bay since I stepped into this room breaks loose in my chest, and I can no longer see through the tears blurring my vision. My tears hit Finn’s skin in fat droplets.
I drop my head to his motionless chest.
It’s so incredibly, ridiculously unfair. How brutal to make our paths veer so close, run parallel, and then split apart.
“I’m sorry, Finn,” I whisper.
Then a flutter against my cheek.
A heartbeat.
My own heart skips a beat as I lurch up, swiping the tears from my eyes. I reach for his neck, pressing my fingers into the soft skin beneath his jaw.
A pulse. Slow, faint, but there.
My sob turns to a laugh halfway out of my mouth, a strangled sound. Unthinking, I bend over and press a kiss to his forehead. I sit back and sweep the hair out of my eyes.
Something brushes at my wrist. Fingers. Cool, callused.
My attention snaps back to the boy in front of me. His eyes flutter, and they’re the same eyes I remember, clear blue and bloodshot but beautiful.
“Finn,” I say, more an exhale than anything.
His fingers twitch at his side.
“Joanna,” he whispers. I’ve never much liked my full name; Inever felt like it was really me. That’s why I letJocatch on with such a fervor. But when he says it, it’s mine.
“Not cool, Finn,” Sloane says, relief clear in her tone. “You had us going there for a second.” She and Aisha, with Jasper between them, rush over to us, Sloane and Aisha helping Finn off his back.
“M’sorry,” Finn mumbles, blinking hard.
“We need to move,” I say. If I was able to escape my bindings, there’s no reason Cecily won’t. Though fighting for one’s life is a bigger motivator than she has. Survival instincts cull logic in their path.
“Think the three of you can walk out of here?” I ask.
Jasper and Aisha aren’t all that convinced, but Sloane pushes between them and loops her arms around them. Steadies them.
“We’ll make it,” Sloane says. “What about him?”
I look to Finn, who is still clearly under the influence of sedatives and unsteadily pushing himself onto his hands and knees. He stands and falls against the chamber. Before he can hit the ground, I lunge, throwing my arms around his midsection and hauling him up.
“I got you,” I say, low enough only he can hear. Once I have a firm hold on him, I maneuver so we’re facing the door.
He’s a solid weight against my side, and it’s clear he’s trying to hold himself up, but he dips every few seconds. His eyes flutter as they try to focus on things.
“You okay?” I ask, knowing it’s a loaded question with no good answer.
