Late.
Why would she say that?
I drop to my knees beside her. I get my hands on the beam, and it doesn’t matter how hard I pull. It doesn’t move, and some part of me already knows there’s nothing on this earth that’s going to save her.
It’s because she’s already dead.
No!
Fresh hurt courses through me.
“I’m sorry.” The words come out of me before I can stop them. “I’m so sorry, Sage. I wasn’t there for you. I couldn’t save you. I still can’t save you.”
Her hand finds mine. Her grip is weak.
“I know,” she says.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” I say, and I am begging her now; I can hear it in my own voice, this need for her to understand, to forgive me. “I wasn’t there when you needed me.”
“I know,” Sage says again, and her eyes are closing, and the beam is getting heavier. “There was nothing you could have done, my love.”
“Don’t go.” My voice cracks down the middle. “Please don’t leave me.”
“I have to,” she whispers.
The fire is getting closer. I can feel the heat of it on the side of my face.
“Magma.”
That’s not her voice.
“Magma!”
Hands on my shoulders, shaking me, and I come up out of it with my fists raised. Then my mind catches up to where Iam, and I stop an inch from contact because some part of me, some buried and still-functioning part, recognizes her scent and remembers where I am.
Carla is crouched in front of me in the dark with both hands raised, her eyes wide.
I’m breathing like I’ve run for miles. My heart is slamming against my ribs hard enough that I can feel it in my throat.
She blows out a heavy breath.
“You were dreaming,” she says, her voice low. “You were having a nightmare. I woke you.”
I drag a hand down my face.
“I’m fine,” I say, even though my hands are not steady and my chest still feels too tight.
She reaches for me. Just her hand, coming toward my arm, meaning nothing but comfort, and something in me recoils so hard and so fast that I pull away.
“Don’t,” I snap. “I don’t need… Just don’t. I can’t right now.”
She freezes. I watch the hurt cloud her eyes, and she pulls her hand back into her own lap.
“Okay.” Her voice has gone flat. “Sorry. I was trying to help.”
She gets up and moves back to her side of the overhang, putting distance between us. I should be relieved, but I’m not. I feel like an asshole instead.
I sit there with my back against the stone and try to get my pulse back under control. The dream is already fraying at the edges, but the weight of it stays lodged behind my ribs regardless. Sage’s voice lingers in my mind.
