Page 9

Vesper. Fuck.

She’s still a small, vibrating ball of shadow on the couch. A sickening spike of guilt pierces through the fog in my brain. I’m leaving her. I’m leaving my only companion in a room with a…

No.

I grit my teeth and wrench the zip free with a violent tug.

Stop it. This isn’t real, Eden.

She’ll be fine. Hallucinations don’t hurt cats. She only freaked out because I freaked out. So maybe once my panicky-ass self is out of the room, she’ll get a chance to calm down too.

“Run all you want, little summoner,” he purrs behind me. “I’ll see you when you get back.”

I bolt out, slam the door shut, and lean back against the hallway wall, pressing my fingertips to my temples, kneading at the pressure before it mutates into something catastrophic.

Move, Eden.

One foot, then the next. Fresh air. Normalcy. Noise that isn’t… whatever the hell that thing is.

So I drag myself forward, forcing my feet toward the stairwell. I scramble down the first flight on shaking legs, hand clinging to the rail because my bones feel like they’ve been assembled out of wet cardboard.

Halfway down the next flight, the steps seem to pulse beneath me. I miss one and stumble, slapping a palm against the wall to steady myself. My head dips forward as hot saliva surges, nausea rolling so violently through me I nearly fold.

No. Nope. Absolutely not. Pull yourself together.

I clamp my lips together, barely managing to swallow the flood down.

It’s fine. Keep moving. Just go.

Slick beads of sweat prickle across my forehead, my vision flickering.

What the hell is happening?

I buckle, catching myself on the railing with both hands, doubled over. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying my best to suck in lungfuls of air.

Come on. Stand up. Move.

I push up and manage two unsteady steps before the entire floor drops sideways in a slow underwater tilt that sends a hot wave rocketing up my throat. I slap a hand over my mouth as I dry heave into nothingness.

My knees splay outward, fighting for balance against another tilt. The spot beneath my sternum feels like it’s swelling, guts pushing my bones outwards in quick shoves.

Oh God. No. No. Something is wrong. Something is seriously wrong.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t⁠—

Iron fingers hook onto my arm, jerking me upward and backward in one brutal pull, whipping the world past in a smear of concrete. I barely manage a gasp before a second hand slams over my mouth, sealing the half-formed scream against my tongue. My body jerks on instinct, limbs flailing as I try to struggle against the hold. My shoes scrape uselessly against the concrete, soles squealing as he drags me backward, step by step.

All at once, it collapses—the pressure, the nausea, the stabbing heat in my bones. It dissolves into one big, dizzying rush of something warm and heavy, like hot syrup flooding through my veins, like a muscle unclenching after being held too tight for too long.

Another arm slides under my knees in a single, efficient sweep, scooping me into a bridal hold, and my head lolls against a shoulder. I can’t tell if it’s comfort or terror flooding me anymore. My body is limp, useless, humming with strange relief.

The air around me dissolves into nothing but goopy static.

“Don’t pass out,” a low growl warns. “Oh, you dramatic little⁠—”