I was digging my own grave.
Slithering, terrifying horror moves through my body as I understand: Emmaline was in my head. She wanted to see if she could get me to kill myself.
And even as I think it—even as I look down at the miserable attempt I made to bury myself alive—I feel a dull, stabbing sympathy for Emmaline. Because I felt her pain, and it wasn’t cruel.
It was desperate.
Like she was hoping that if I killed myself while she was in my head, somehow I’d be able to kill her, too.
J is screaming again.
I stagger to my feet, heart in my throat as the skies wrench open, releasing their wrath upon me. I’m not sure why Emmaline gave the inside of my head a shot—brave but weak—but I know enough to understand that whatever the hell is happening here is more than I can handle on my own. Right now, I can only hope that everyone in the Sanctuary is okay—and that Nazeera gets back here soon. Until then, my broken body will have to do its best.
I push forward.
Even as old, cold blood dries in my ears, across my chest, I push forward, steeling myself against the increasingly volatile weather conditions. The steady succession of earthquakes. The lightning strikes. The raging thunderstorm growing quickly into a hurricane.
Once I’m finally close enough, Warner looks up.
He seems stunned.
It occurs to me then that he’s only just seeing me—after all this—he’s only just realizing I’m here. A flicker of relief flashes through his eyes, too quickly replaced by pain.
And then he calls out two words—two words I never thought I’d inspire him to say:
“Help me.”
The sentence is carried off in the wind, but the agony in his eyes remains. And from this vantage point, I finally understand the depth of what he’s endured. At first I’d thought Warner was only holding her steady, trying to be supportive.
I was wrong.
J is vibrating with power, and Warner is only barely hanging on to her. Holding her still. Something—someone—is physically animating Juliette’s body, articulating her limbs, trying to force her upright and possibly away from here, and it’s only because of Warner that Emmaline hasn’t succeeded.
I have no idea how he’s doing it.
J’s skin has gone translucent, veins bright and freakish in her pale face. She’s nearly blue, ready to crack. A low-level hum emanates from her body, the crackle of energy, the buzz of power. I grab on to her arm and in the half second Warner shifts to distribute her weight between us, the three of us are flung forward. We hit the ground so hard I can hardly breathe, and when I’m finally able to lift my head I look at Warner, my own eyes wide with unmasked terror.
“Emmaline is doing this,” I say, shouting the words at him.
He nods, his face grim.
“What can we do?” I cry. “How can she just keep screaming like this?”
Warner only looks at me.
He just looks at me, and the tortured expression in his eyes tells me everything I need to know. J can’t keep screaming like this. She can’t just be here on her knees screaming for a century. This shit is going to kill her. Jesus Christ. I knew it was bad, but for some reason I didn’t think it was this bad.
J looks like she’s going to die.
“Should we try to pick her up?” I don’t even know why I ask. I doubt I could lift her arm above my head, much less her whole body. My own body is still shaking, so much so that I can barely do my part to keep this girl from lifting directly off the ground. I have no idea what kind of crazy shit is pumping through her veins right now, but J is on another planet. She looks half-alive, mostly alien. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her jaw unhinged. She’s radiating energy. It’s fucking terrifying.
And I can barely keep up.
The ache in my arms has begun to creep up my shoulders and down my back and I shiver, violently, when a sharp wind strikes my bare, overheated skin.
“Let’s try,” Warner says.
I nod.
Take a deep breath.
Beg myself to be stronger than I am.
I don’t know how I do it, but through nothing short of a miracle, I make it to my feet. Warner and I manage to bind Juliette between us, and when I look over at him, I’m at least relieved to discover that he looks like he’s struggling, too. I’ve never seen Warner struggle, not really, and I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen him sweat. But as much as I’d love to laugh a little right now, the sight of him straining so hard just to hold on to her only sends a fresh wave of fear through me. I have no idea how long he’s been trying to restrain her all by himself. I have no idea what would’ve happened to her if he hadn’t been there to hold on. And I have no idea what would happen to her right now, if we were to let go.