jolted as they abruptly changed course. Dreya dragged him up, away from the structures below, and in seconds, they plunged into the air. Only a few moments of weightlessness, the shock of light after so much dark, and then they landed on top of a crumbling concrete slab. For a while, he just lay there, gasping, as the water pooled and cold air soaked to his bones. He couldn’t focus on what was happening. Couldn’t force his mind to kick-start and work again. All he could do was focus on the cold and his breath and the pain. Every muscle in Tenn’s body ached, but he didn’t open to Earth. He wanted to feel the hurt. After everything that had just been sacrificed for him, it was the least he could do.
He closed his eyes, let his focus drift in and out. Shreds of conversation drifted through his clouded mind. Finally, he forced himself to sitting and looked around, wincing from the effort. The morning was cold and clear, the sun streaking across the horizon. Beautiful, if not for the nightmare still plaguing him. No land in sight. Just sparkling waves and broken plinths rising from the surf. Things clicked with a disgusting snap. He knew precisely where they were. This was all that was left of Chicago. And the water had once been Lake Michigan.
“What the hell are we doing here?” he asked.
The twins stood farther off, conferring with Jarrett. All of them were dry. Tenn very much was not.
Jarrett looked over and the twins went silent.
He knew the three of them could kill him in an instant, knew it was them who should be questioning him. But the pain in his heart was too much. Water raged. He let it. It was easier than thinking about what he’d done. Easier than thinking about the deaths. Or Tomás. “What the hell is going on?”
Tenn stood as he spoke, realizing he’d lost his staff somewhere along the way, and tried not to sway too much when he did so. Everything was quiet and pastoral, save for the lulling wash of waves. He wanted to scream. Scream because it was too picturesque, too quiet, and his comrades were either dead or dying and here he was, alive and well, for absolutely no reason. He wanted to get back to them. He had to. He had to give himself up.
Jarrett stepped forward and reached out.
“Tenn, let me explain.”
“No. No, don’t touch me. Tell me why you were sent.”
“You know why we’re here,” Jarrett said slowly. As though Tenn had lost his mind in the battle. “We were sent to protect your troop.”
“Bullshit!” Tenn yelled. Water pulsed in his gut, and waves crashed higher against the building. Shakily, he pushed the power away. He couldn’t trust himself with it. “If you were just sent to protect us, why didn’t you stay with them? Why did you...?” He could barely force down the tears. Why did you save me? Why didn’t you save everyone else? Why am I here, when the rest of them are dead?
Jarrett looked back to the twins. Dreya shrugged. Devon studiously looked away. When he turned back to Tenn, Jarrett wore an expression Tenn couldn’t place.
“You have to understand, Tenn. We’re just trying to protect you.”
Tenn shook his head. “Why? Why me? Why didn’t you save everyone else? You could have saved everyone else.”
“We could not,” Dreya said. She stepped forward. Devon moved at her side. A shadow. “We would not have had the strength to carry so many. To do so would have risked us all. We would have been followed.”
“But why me?” I’m no one. I’m worth nothing.
“Because we were sent to find you,” Jarrett said.
Hearing him say it was a kick in the stomach.
“Why?”
Jarrett opened his mouth, but Dreya put a hand on his shoulder and stepped forward.
“You are being targeted by the Kin,” she said.
Tenn’s heart lurched to his throat. Did she know about Tomás?
“Dreya, don’t—” Jarrett began, but she waved her hand and continued, anyway.
“It is not a statement you wish to hear. Any sane man would feel the same. But it is the truth. The Kin desire you, and they will stop at nothing to take you. That is why we were sent.”
He went silent. Having the Kin after him wasn’t a shock after all that had happened. The shock was that others knew about it. The shock was that these three had let the rest of his troop die for it. For him.
“You should have let Matthias take me,” Tenn whispered. “I’m not worth their lives.”
“Do you really think Matthias would have let us go?” Jarrett asked. Suddenly, there was a hand under Tenn’s chin; Jarrett tilted Tenn’s head up to meet his gaze. “Matthias is a necromancer, Tenn. He would have taken you and killed the rest of us, anyway. At least this way... At least now you’re safe.”
Tenn wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. Jarrett’s gaze held him, as surely as Jarrett’s touch sent flames racing through his chest.
“Why? What makes me special? Why do they want me?”
Jarrett grinned.
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out by keeping you alive. The Prophets told us to protect you. Personally, I’d guess it’s tied to your Spheres acting up. I’ve never heard of that happening before.”
Tenn couldn’t take his eyes off Jarrett’s. They were so warm. So familiar. He was acutely aware of Jarrett’s fingers under his chin, of their closeness, of the warmth Jarrett gave. A warmth, and a confidence. He could have stayed there forever. Instead, he pushed the warmth away and stepped back, letting Water slosh through his veins in a cold curse.
He hated himself. For being alive when the rest of his troop was dead. For being the reason his troop was dead. But mostly, he hated himself because, right then, he didn’t hate himself. There was something about being in Jarrett’s gravity that made him feel alive. That made the last few years of bloodshed and regret fade away.
Something clanked beneath Jarrett’s coat as Tenn stepped away.
“What’s that?” Tenn asked, pulled from his thoughts.
“Something I picked up,” he said.
Jarrett pulled the object from inside his pocket. Tenn gasped and stepped back. It was the jar the necromancer had held, the one with the flickering flame.
“Why—”
“I thought it might come in handy,” Jarrett said.
The twins stepped forward, peering over Jarrett’s shoulder silently. But Tenn wasn’t watching them. He couldn’t take his eyes off the jar.
At first, he thought it was badly scratched, but the more he stared at it, the more the markings that flickered in the sun and from the inner fire became, well, if not legible, at least uniform. Definitely symbols. Harsh and angular. They seemed to whisper in his head, like reading a foreign language he could almost place. The weight of a void, the dark center of a star, the raging heat of space, consuming, consuming...
“What?” Jarrett
