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
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.
Emmaline would never allow it.
Maybe I got this far only because she was too busy to notice me right away—to sense me here, in my invisible state. It makes me wonder what else she’s done to keep this area clear of trespassers.
It makes me wonder if I’ll survive.
It’s growing harder to think. It takes forever to fuse thoughts. Takes forever to move my arms. To lift my head. To look around. By the time I manage to pry open my mouth, I’ve forgotten that my voice makes no sound.
A flash of gold in the distance.
I spot Warner, shifting so slowly I wonder whether we’re both suffering from the same affliction. He’s fighting desperately to sit up next to J—J who’s still on her knees, bent forward, mouth open. Her eyes are squeezed shut in concentration,
