Minutes pass. Or maybe hours. Time doesn't work right anymore. Nothing works right anymore.
Finally, I force myself to stand. Turn on the faucet. Scrub my hands under scalding water even though they're clean, have been clean for months. But I can still feel it—the sticky warmth of blood, the weight of what I did, the knowledge that I'm a killer.
I splash water on my face. It drips down my neck, soaks into Xavier's hoodie—the one he gave me months ago that still smells like leather and smoke and him. The one I'm going to have to face him in while lying about murdering his brother.
I look at the stranger in the mirror. Hollow eyes. Pale skin. Guilt carved into every feature. I look like someone carrying secrets that are eating them alive.
Because I am.
I strip off my ruined clothes, the ones that smell like the Viper compound and fear. Change into clean jeans and a black t-shirt. Pull Xavier's hoodie back on because I need something of his, some reminder that he exists and he's real and maybe—maybe—we can survive this.
A knock at the door makes me freeze.
My heart hammers. For one irrational second I think it's the police, that somehow they know, that Talia told them, that this is it.
"Val?" Zay's voice, muffled through the wood.
I take a breath. Force my hands to stop shaking. Arrange my face into something neutral, something that won't give me away. The mask I've been wearing for months without knowing it.
"Yeah?" I call back, trying to sound normal. Tired but normal.
Silence. Then: "Can I talk to you for a second?"
"Just—just a minute."
I run my fingers through my hair. Check my reflection one more time. The mask holds. Barely. But it holds.
I unlock the door and open it.
Zay stands there, phone in his hand, expression unreadable. There's something in his eyes I can't quite identify. Something between hope and dread.
"What's wrong?" I ask, even though everything's wrong. Everything's been wrong since I remembered.
He looks at me for a long moment. Studies my face like he's memorizing it. Then quietly, carefully, like he's afraid the words might break me:
"Xavier's awake."
My heart drops.
2
XAVIER
The fluorescent lightsare drilling holes through my skull.
I've been awake for—what? Two hours? Maybe three? I can’t tell. I’m swimming through morphine fog and your body feels like it's been through a wood chipper. The nurses keep coming in every twenty minutes, shining a penlight directly into my eyes, asking me questions I barely have the energy to answer.
Do you know where you are?
Hospital. Obviously.
Do you know what day it is?
No fucking clue.
Can you feel this?
That's the question that keeps coming back. That's the one that makes my stomach turn.
