“Hey.” He’d never heard her voice that soft.
“No, no, no,” the kid cried. “Please. I’ll hurt you.”
“You’re not going to hurt me,” Anika said. “It’s all going to be okay.”
“I didn’t mean it.”
“I know,” she said. “It’s not your fault.”
The teen lifted their head up, looking at her with big, watery eyes. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
“I know,” Anika repeated. “I’m Anika. This is Silas. What’s your name?”
“Wren.”
“We’re going to help you, Wren. Can you get out of the car?”
Wren shook their head, the sobs starting again. “No. No. They wouldn’t—I can’t leave them.”
And then Silas looked to the front seat.
It was Wren’s parents, and it was his dad, and it was all those people outside, and the people from that snap he’d helped clean up when he was just a kid himself, and it was what he knew Katherine must have seen when she snapped, and he wanted to pull Wren into a hug and tell them it was all going to be okay, but they didn’t have time.
Because LAX was falling apart.
It was the parking garage that was going down now, the structures that had been connected to the bridge crumbling without its support. Feet pounded around him as people tried to escape the debris that started falling from the sky. He heard Anika’s voice rise, heard Wren protest as she pulled the kid out of the car, felt her grab Silas’ hand and pull him away.
Anika ran. Silas followed.
Stopped, when he realized Wren had stopped.
Turned, to see the teen looking back at the car, their eyes glued to the bodies of their parents.
“We need to go!” Anika said, trying to pull Wren with her, but they kept their feet glued to the ground. Silas knew that feeling. Knew it too well.
He moved to Wren. Bent down. Looked the kid in the eyes. Let all of his pain shine through—two matching broken souls.
“You can’t undo it,” he said. “You can’t go back in time. All you can do is move forward.”
Behind Wren’s head, Silas watched as a station wagon rolled off thecollapsing parking structure, exploding in a puff of fire. They still didn’t have time for this, but Silas would make time. He’d carve out the space to have this conversation, because he knew that Wren needed to have it.
“What if I don’t want to?” Wren asked, in a shaky voice.
“You don’t have a choice.”
Wren looked at him, their face raw with emotion. The air started to heat—from another impending snap or from the chaos around them, Silas didn’t know. But he kept his eyes glued to Wren’s, focused on this moment. On this pain. On the chance that he could help heal at least this one wound.
Wren blinked away tears. “I don’t want to be here without them.”
“I know. But they wouldn’t want you to stop living just because they’re gone.”
Wren looked at the destroyed car again, then at Silas. Then they nodded.
Silas slipped Wren’s hand into his. Everything became instinct as they ran, Silas’ body telling him when to jump, when to duck, when to weave. His lungs burned with effort, but he kept going, kept pushing until the air cleared, the noises of pain getting overtaken by the sounds of sirens—ambulances, fire trucks, desperately needed help.
They finally stopped, carving out a small space for their group on the sidewalk as people streamed around them. Silas didn’t even wait to catch his breath before he turned to Anika. “Take Wren to El Sereno Coffee in east LA. You’ll be safe there.”
Her face tightened. “Silas, I can’t let you go by yourself.”
