But they’re all gone and I turn to find Skylar standing in the smoke behind me. Barefoot in the burning sand, scrub trousers his only clothes, eyes like glass, blood oozing from his inked skin.
He’s so pale.
So quiet.
But he’s breathing, I see it, chest rising slow, arms up, reaching…
For me?
I surge forward.
Irun.
Skylar steps back.
No—he’sdraggedback, by something I can’t see, and dread floods my veins.
“Skylar.” I run harder to grab him. “Sky!”
But my flailing hands find nothing but smoke, and Skylar flickers, his lips moving fast and urgent.
A warning.
To stay or to go, but I’m not close enough to know which, and as he fades, shifts, and disappears, I know I never will be?—
“Fuck, Mal. You can’t sleep in here.”
Footsteps advance on me, big hands wrapping around my arms with such force that I react before I know what I’m doing.
Ifight, snapping upright, driving forward without checking for friendlies, kill mode activated before I’ve snatched a breath.
“Mal, it’s me.”
Jack.
But it’s too late. We crash. Weight slams into me as Jack blocks the hit and counters, caging my momentum as I twist to strike his centre mass, and we tumble to the fucking floor.
Jack’s strong. And despite the glitch in his brain earlier, his wits are sharper than mine right now. He gets his arms around me, like he used to when we grappled as teenagers. He gets medownand keeps me there, solid as concrete.
Jack.
My brother.
Long seconds pass.
Then he eases back and I blink up at him.
I want to be sick.
“Fuck.” I shove myself back against Skylar’s drawers. Something falls. An envelope. “Fuck, did I hit you? Tell me I didn’t fucking hit you.”
“You didn’t.” Jack crouches in front of me. “And if you had, it would’ve been my fault.”
“Fuck off.”
“No. Take a breath.”
I try, and it’s the stupidest thing in the world that I can’t. I’ve spent half my life training to keep myself calm. To face the worst things men can do to each other with a nod and a steady inhale. How the fuck did this happen to me?