Spinner laughs. ‘We’ve come to rescue you, silly.’
‘But –’
‘But what?’
‘Blaze,’ I say. ‘Blaze. She’s on the other side. You – you have to get her out.’
‘No need,’ Spinner tells me.
‘What d’you mean,no need?’ I demand. ‘I pushed her out of the way. She could be under the rubble …’ I trail off, my body wracked with coughs that sound a bit like sobs.
Spinner shakes her head. ‘I said no need, Flint, because she’s already gone.’
‘That’s impossible.’
‘Tell that to the trail of footsteps we found leading out of the tunnel.’
I let her words sink in. ‘She got out?’
‘Yup.’
‘And I’m not dying?’
‘Nope.’
‘And you … you’re not just in my head?’
Spinner leans down and presses a soft kiss to my mouth. Her lips are sugar-sweet, comforting and familiar. ‘Feel that?’
I nod slowly.
‘Don’t worry,’ Spinner says gently, looping my satchel over her shoulder and straightening up. ‘We’re going to get you out of here.’
My head pounds. ‘How? And how did you even get in?’
Spinner glances at Sheen, who hesitates briefly before stepping forward. Before I can let out so much as a squeak of protest, he gathers me into his arms.
‘Like this.’ Spinner winks at me.
The next moment she’s gone, vanished into thin air.
My jaw drops. I look up at Sheen, his face so closed off, so close to mine. I open my mouth to say something – I’m not entirely sure what – but I don’t get the chance. There’s a sudden rush of wind, an unpleasant squeezing feeling, a sense of weightlessness. When I open my eye seconds later, I’m no longer trapped inside a rubble-filled, bone-strewn chamber in the Ridge tunnels but on a grassy bank, breathing cool, sweet air.
I twist my head from side to side, taking in my surroundings. Rolling hills, blue sky, midday sun beating down hot – and a whole lot of green.
The Wildlands.
Spinner beckons us over into the shade, where a few branches have been bent and bound to form a haphazard little shelter. Beside it sit three waterskins and a steaming cooking pot. One whiff of the contents sets my stomach growling.
I become aware of two things in quick succession. First, I’m not wearing a shirt. Second, I’m still cradled in Sheen’sarms, which are surprisingly muscular despite his lean frame. And what’s more, I’m clinging to him so tightly I’ve lost some of the feeling in my fingers.
Heat blooms in my face and neck. In an attempt to preserve a shred of dignity, I stick out my chin and fold my distinctly less brawny arms across my chest.
‘Put me down.’
Sheen raises an eyebrow.
‘Now,’ I command, with considerably more authority.
