But I’m choosing to call it luck.

Luck that I’m seeing this, luck that I feel like I might throw up, luck that I ran all this way in my still-ill, injured body just in time to score a front-row seat to the end of the world.

Luck, fate, coincidence, serendipity—

I’ll call this sick, sinking feeling in my gut a fucking magic trick if it’ll help me keep my eyes open long enough to bear witness. To figure out how to help.

Because no one else is here.

No one but me and Nazeera, which seems crazy to an improbable degree. The Sanctuary is supposed to have security on patrol at all times, but I see no sentries, and no sign of incoming aid. No soldiers from the nearby sector, either. Not even curious, hysterical civilians. Nothing.

It’s like we’re standing in a vacuum, on an invisible plane of existence. I don’t know how J and Warner made it this far without being spotted. The two of them look like they were literally dragged through the dirt; I have no idea how they escaped notice. And though it’s possible J only just started screaming, I still have a thousand unanswered questions.

They’ll have to wait.

I glance at Nazeera out of habit, forgetting for a moment that she and I are invisible. But then I feel her step closer, and I breathe a sigh of relief as her hand slips into mine. She squeezes my fingers. I return the pressure.

Lucky, I remind myself.

It’s lucky that we’re here right now, because if I’d been in bed where I should’ve been, I wouldn’t have even known J was in trouble. I would’ve missed the tremble in my friend’s voice as she cried out, begging for mercy. I would’ve missed the shattering colors of a twisted sunrise, a peacock in the middle of hell. I would’ve missed the way J clamped her head between her hands and sobbed. I would’ve missed the sharp scents of pine and sulfur in the wind, would’ve missed the dry ache in my throat, the tremor moving through my body. I would’ve missed the moment J mentioned her sister by name. I wouldn’t have heard J specifically ask her sister not to do something.

Yeah, this is definitely luck.

Because if I hadn’t heard any of that, I wouldn’t have known who to blame.

Emmaline.

ELLA

JULIETTE

I have eyes, two, feel them, rolling back and forth, around and around in my skull I have lips, two, feel them, wet and and heavy, pry them open have teeth, many, tongue, one and fingers, ten, count them

onetwothreefourfive, again on the other side strange, ssstrange to have a tongue, sstrange it’s a sssstrange ssort of thing, a strange ssssssssssortofthing

loneliness

it creeps up on you

quiet

and

still,

sits by your side in the dark, strokes your hair as you sleep wrapssitself around your bones squeezing sotightyoualmostcan’t breathe almost can’t hear the pulse racing in your blood as it rush, rushes up your

skin

touches its lips to the soft hairs at the back of your

neck

loneliness is a strangesortof thinga sstrangesortofthing an old friend standing beside you in the mirror screaming you’re notenoughneverenough never ever enough

sssssometimes it just

won’t

let

go

KENJI

I sidestep an eruption in the ground and duck just in time to avoid a cluster of vines growing in midair. A distant rock balloons to an astronomical size, and the moment it starts barreling in our direction I tighten my hold on Nazeera’s hand and dive for cover.

The sky is ripping apart. The ground is fracturing beneath my feet. The sun flickers, strobing darkness, strobing light, everything stilted. And the clouds— There’s something newly wrong with the clouds.

They’re disintegrating.

Trees can’t decide whether to stand up or lie down, gusts of wind shoot up from the ground with terrifying power, and suddenly the sky is full of birds. Full of fucking birds.

Emmaline is out of control.

We knew that her telekinetic and psychokinetic powers were godlike—beyond anything we’ve ever known—and we knew that The Reestablishment built Emmaline to control our experience of the world. But that was all, and that was just talk. Theory.

We’d never seen her like this.

Wild.

She’s clearly doing something to J right now, ravaging her mind while lashing out at the world around us, because the acid trip I’m staring at is only getting worse.

“Go back,” I cry out over the din. “Get help—bring the girls!”

A single shout of agreement and Nazeera’s hand slips free from mine, her heavy boots on the ground my only indication that she’s bolting toward the Sanctuary. But even now—especially now—her swift, certain actions fill me with no small measure of relief.

It feels good to have a capable partner.

I claw my way across the sparse forest, grateful to have avoided the worst of the obstacles, and when I’m finally close enough to properly discern Warner’s face, I pull back my invisibility.

I’m shaking with exhaustion.

I’d only barely recovered from being drugged nearly to death, and yet here I am, already about to die again. But when I look up, half-bent, hands on my knees and trying to breathe, I realize I have no right to complain.

Warner looks even worse than l expected.

Raw, clenched, a vein straining at his temple. He’s on his knees holding on to J like he’s trying to hold back a riot, and I didn’t realize until just this second that he might be here for more than just emotional support.

The whole thing is surreal: they’re both practically naked, in the dirt, on their knees—J with her hands pressed flat against her ears—and I can’t help but wonder what kind of hell brought them to this moment.

I thought I was the one having a weird night.

Something slams suddenly into my gut and I double over, hitting the ground hard. Arms shaking, I push up onto all fours and scan the immediate area for the culprit. When I spot it, I gag.

A dead bird, a couple feet away.

Jesus.

J is still screaming.

I shove my way through a sudden, violent gust of wind—and just when I’ve regained my balance, ready to clear the last fifty feet toward my friends—the world goes mute.

Sound, off.

No howling winds, no tortured screams, no coughs, no sneezes. This is not ordinary quiet. It’s not stillness, not silence.

It’s more than that.

It’s nothing at all.

I blink, blink, my head turning in slow, excruciating motion as I scan the distance for answers, willing the explanations to appear. Hoping the sheer force of my mind is enough to sprout reason from the ground.

It isn’t.

I’ve gone deaf.

Nazeera is no longer here, J and Warner are still fifty feet away, and I’ve gone deaf. Deaf to the sound of the wind, to the shuddering trees. Deaf to my own labored breathing, to the cries of citizens in the compounds beyond. I try to clench my fists and it takes forever, like the air has grown dense. Thick.

Something is wrong with me.

I’m slow, slower than I’ve ever been, like I’m running underwater. Something is purposely keeping me back, physically pushing me away from Juliette—and suddenly, it all makes sense. My earlier confusion dissolves. Of course no one else is here. Of course no one else has come to help.