My team has their orders. I gave them those orders. Pair up. Stay together. Try to keep each other in sight. That was the best I could do to ensure their safety. I’m working alone. Luka argued about that, but my will prevailed—one of the perks of being the one in charge. Actually, the only perk.
To my right, I catch sight of Luka and Tyrone. They’re side by side against the far wall, taking cover behind an overturned metal filing cabinet, shooting out anything that glows and moves. The sight of them gives me hope that we’ll somehow get out of here alive.
Retreat isn’t an option.
This group of Drau is stronger, faster, and far larger than what we encountered on our previous missions. We can’t let them go back and send reports to their mothership, or whatever it is they report back to. We can’t let them escalate the threat. I hadn’t thought of that until Luka pointed it out, but once he said it, I knew he was right. I think of the people I love: Dad, Carly, Kelley, Dee, Sarah, my aunt Gale, my cousins. So many people counting on us.
I think of Jackson and the fact that I didn’t tell him how I feel, didn’t tell him how angry I am for what he’s done to me. Didn’t tell him how much I care.
But I don’t dare think of that. It hurts too much. We left it with him thinking I hate him, that I couldn’t forgive him. But I think I can. Especially after seeing what I’ve seen today. The Drau will kill us all—every human on the entire planet—if they get the chance. If I can help make certain that they don’t get the chance, then that’s what I’ll do. My grandfather taught me all about loyalty and bravery and honor. If Sofu were standing here right now, he would fight.
A boy tears across the open space of the empty office and drops down to skid across the floor like he’s sliding into first base. A streak of light follows him, and I see the Drau’s weapon—fluid and jellylike, metallic, smooth, deadly. My own weapon is deadly, too, cold in my hand. I will it to fire. I shoot. I miss. The Drau’s attention shifts to me.
Terror clawing at me, I aim, I fire—
The Drau is pulled into the darkness.
The boy who was running is on the floor at my feet now, panting, his black hair slicked to his skull, his expression grim. He doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t thank me for saving his life. He doesn’t need to. Any second now, the tables could turn and he could be the one saving me. He keeps his gaze on our surroundings, ready to take out any threat while he reaches down and feels for the fallen girl’s pulse. I don’t say anything, even though I could tell him there’s nothing to find. The way he came tearing in this direction, risking so much, tells me that this girl was part of his team. Maybe she was something more to him.
Like Jackson is to me.
I wonder again if he’s here somewhere. On another floor of this building, facing the wave of Drau.
Or maybe his trade worked. Maybe the Committee set him free.
I want to believe that because I don’t want him anywhere near this. I want him safe. I want him free.
But he’s not. In my soul, I know it.
He wouldn’t still be talking in my head if he were free.
Beside me, the boy keeps his hand on the dead girl’s throat, like he believes that if he just waits long enough, her heart will start to beat again. Another streak of light comes at us. I surge to my feet, aim, shoot. Miss. Something big and solid flies toward me: a broken chunk of desk. It slams against my leg. Pain blossoms, a poisonous flower.
I gasp and stagger, my injured muscles betraying me.
The Drau keeps coming. I bolt forward with a
kiai
shout, taking my weight on my good leg, my gait lumbering and uneven. I’m firing and firing, the recoil slamming my shoulder like a sledgehammer, the force of my will sending black death at the Drau. It’s gone, but not before the points of light that spewed from its weapon lodge in my flesh, burning like acid. And not before I hear its tortured scream.
Biting back a groan, I lurch away and sink back to the ground, grateful for the wall at my back protecting me and offering support.
That’s when I notice the quiet. I can hear my own panting breaths, melding with those around me.
My team is close enough that I can call to them.
My
team. Like I’m some sort of leader. I remember all the times Jackson told me he didn’t want me to be a team player. No. Of course not. He needed me to be a team leader. The thought makes me want to laugh like I did that day on the driveway with Luka. Instead, I focus on what needs to get done. I need to know how many Drau are left on this floor, and how many humans.
“Luka. Tyrone.” When they look my way, I jerk my head to the left. “Recon.” They move off in that direction.
“Kendra. Lien.” I jerk my head to the right, sending them to scout on the far side of the wall.
I push to my feet so I can offer cover to both pairs as they check to see if the floor’s clear. My thigh screams in agony. I glance down. No blood. That’ll have to do for now. Beside me, the boy with the black hair, the one I saved earlier, struggles to stand. His face is streaked with sweat, or maybe tears. But his features are set with determination. He moves to stand at my side, so we’re two instead of one, strangers united by a common foe, a common goal.
“This floor’s clear,” Tyrone says as he and Luka return.
A minute later, Kendra and Lien offer the same report.
“We go up,” I say.
“Which stairs?” Luka asks.
“Were there stairs at that end of the corridor?”
He nods.
I glance at Lien. “And at the end you checked?”
She nods as well.
With the stairs we took to get here, that makes three sets.
“We should split into teams and each take a set,” Luka says, his gaze sliding curiously to the silent boy at my side.
“We should stay together,” Lien argues, reminding me of the caves and the way I said that to Jackson. I remember the way he acted, like he wanted me to figure out what course we should follow and be the one to make the call. I didn’t get it at the time, but I do now. He was getting me ready to take his place. It hurts to think about that, to think about
him
, so I don’t.
“Safety in numbers,” I murmur. “But if we don’t cover all the exits, there’s a chance some of them will get out without us noticing.” I hate the decision I’m about to make. I hate letting my team fragment into pieces. But in the big scheme of the mission, it’s the best choice.
“We split,” I say. I look at the black-haired boy. “What’s your name?”
“Tom.”
I nod. “Miki.” I don’t bother to introduce the others since we’ll be splitting up and the chances of him remembering everyone’s name are pretty slim. “Show me your cons.” They all hold out their wrists. Everyone’s con is now a shade of yellow, some more orangey than others. Their clothes are torn, dust and sweat streaking their faces, eyes shadowed and grim. I figure I look pretty much the same as they do.
Before I can say anything, Luka grabs my wrist and turns it so my con is visible. The little map with the triangles is still in the corner. The live feed of our surroundings still takes up most of the screen. The frame is nowhere near the swirling green it was when we started. It’s a dark yellow, shaded by orange.
Luka’s eyes meet mine. I don’t give him the chance to say a word.
“Luka, Tyrone”—I jerk my head toward the corridor they just checked—“Kendra. Lien”—I nod at the corridor they pronounced clear. “Tom, you’re with me.” I pause and take a second to meet each of their gazes in turn. “Remember what I said about orange.”
“You remember, too,” Luka says with a hard look, and then they’re gone.
The stairs are a challenge. My injured leg won’t take my full weight, so I have to climb one agonizing step at a time with my good leg, dragging my bad one up behind. We encounter nothing on our way up, but as soon as we reach the next floor we’re caught in the vortex of the battle. The Drau are so numerous and so bright here that the humans fighting them are merely dark silhouettes that pirouette and surge and dance away.
There’s no time, no chance to make a plan. There’s only me with a stranger at my back, shooting, turning, shooting again, trying to stay on my feet even though my thigh’s screaming in agony with each step I take.
I don’t know where Luka and Tyrone are, or Lien and Kendra.
Or Jackson.
I don’t even know if he’s here. But if he is, if he was sent here to this version of hell, I can only hope he’s safe.
Instinct makes me duck. Too late. I arch back, my arms surging up, and pain gouges my back, my spine. I’ve been hit. I turn. Tom’s going down, crumpling to the ground. Light comes at me. Adrenaline slams me like a train.
Grabbing the hilt of my sword, I drag it free of its sheath once more. My attack lacks finesse and any pretense of skill. I hack, I chop—ugly, short movements that get the job done. And still they come. The more I cut down, the more surge forward to take their places.
Their weapons discharge, shards of light piercing me, making me scream, the agony searing clear through my flesh and muscle and bone.
I sink to my knees, and still I fight.
My head jerks up and in that never-ending second, I see the Drau in front of me lift its weapon. I see the flare of the muzzle, burning bright. It fills my vision, fills my mind. I’m frozen, too shocked to even be afraid. I don’t want to die here, kneeling on the floor. I don’t want to die.
The bright surge comes straight at me and there’s nowhere for me to hide.
Then a shadow blocks the light.
“Miki!”
The shadow is Jackson, throwing his body in front of mine, taking the full brunt of the hit in the dead center of his chest.
My heart stops.
Jackson
.
He stands there for a second, not moving, not making a sound, and then he crumples to the ground as if his bones have turned to paper.
“Jackson!”
He doesn’t answer. He just lies unmoving on the floor in front of me.
A red haze rushes across my vision. Hatred rushes through my heart. With a scream, I come to my feet and shoot and shoot. The lights snuff. Another. Another. I’m like a beast guarding her injured mate, snarling and feral, shooting and hacking at any threat. Until there is nothing left to shoot. Nothing left to kill.
Panting, I stand in a sea of broken chunks of furniture and fallen walls and bodies that lie still and lifeless. The rush of adrenaline that kept me on my feet ebbs. My leg collapses under me. I reach down and feel the swelling through my jeans. I think my femur’s broken, and I don’t even know when, or how, that happened. Maybe when the chunk of desk hit me.
It doesn’t matter. All that matters is Jackson.
I scooch forward, gritting my teeth against the pain.
“Jackson,” I say, glancing around, wary of attack. But nothing moves. No people. No Drau. Not a sound. Nothing. “Jackson,” I say again, the word broken, my voice broken. But he doesn’t answer.
With a groan, I shift so I can reach his head. I turn his face toward me. His glasses are gone, knocked off at some point in this fight. Or maybe he took them off. Maybe he used his Drau eyes against them. Sweat and dirt streak his face. His hair is matted. Blood traces a thin line along his cheek. To me, he is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
I reach for his neck and lay my fingers there, holding my breath, willing to give anything if I can just feel a—
Yes. There. Weak and slow, but there, a pulse.
The sound that escapes me is part sob, part cackle.
I grab his wrist and turn it so I can see his con.
Horror congeals in my gut. It’s almost red. No, that’s not true. No
almost
about it. It’s red with maybe the faintest hint of orange clinging at the edge. He’s dying. Jackson’s dying.
I look around, panicked, ready to cry for help. From whom? Who will help us? I don’t even know if there’s anyone left alive. Luka? Tyrone? My heart feels like it’s been shoved through a meat grinder.
“Jackson,” I say again, holding his cheeks between my palms.
His eyelids flutter. Tears blur my vision. Then his eyes open and he’s staring up at me.
“Miki,” he breathes, and the edge of his mouth curls in a whisper of a smile. “You’re okay.”
I’m not. I’m not okay. I’ll never be okay if he dies here in my arms.
“Don’t you die on me. Don’t you fricking die on me,” I snarl.
“
Tsss
. . . language . . .” His eyelids close. “What . . . makes you . . . think . . . you get a . . . choice?”
My heart stops. “Jackson!” I tap his cheeks. “Jackson!”
His eyelids flutter open again and I stare into his beautiful eyes. Drau eyes, which can steal energy. Eyes that saved him once before.
“Look at me,” I order, my voice hard as diamond.
His eyes widen, and he holds my gaze.
“You take what you need. Do you hear me, Jackson Tate? You take what you need.”
For a second, I think he doesn’t understand what I mean, and then he does. His expression turns to one of horror.
“Never. Miki. Love. You.”
My tears come fast and hard. I swipe them away with the back of my hand. “You think you get to do that? You think you get to tell me you love me and then die on me? You think you get to dump me in this game and then take off? You bastard!” His eyes are closed again. My hands slide to his shoulders. I shake him. I can’t help it. “Open your eyes! Open them. You look at me. You look at me and tell me you love me. You look at me, Jackson.”
His eyes open, and they’re clear, free of pain, free of fear. That scares me most of all. He’s leaving me. He’s accepted that.
And he won’t risk killing me like he killed Lizzie. He won’t take what he needs to stay alive till we get pulled.
Well, if he won’t take, maybe I can give. It isn’t stealing energy if I offer it for free.
“I don’t forgive you,” I grind out. “I don’t. You have to grovel. You have to stick around and earn my forgiveness for consigning me to this hell. You look at me, Jackson Tate, and you live. You live to make up for what you did. You owe it to me to live. Do you hear me?” I’m sobbing now, frantic. I drop my head so my cheek rests against his and I whisper, “I love you. I
won’t
let you die.”