“The first I can easily walk away from. The second...you make me feel—you make me feel.”
The words aren’t pretty, but they’re ragged. His tone isn’t sweet, but raw.
I’m nearly undone. Is he being for real? Or is this just another con to win me over?
The plane jiggles again, but at first, I don’t really care. Not anymore. When it continues, growing increasingly more violent, I freaking care. I freaking care a lot. The bin above us pops open and my backpack spills out as the nose of plane dips at a more acute angle. If not for our seat belts, we would have pitched forward.
This isn’t normal.
I’m nearing full-blown panic when the pilot steps from the cockpit, a bag slung over his shoulders. He moves swiftly, avoiding our gazes.
Killian releases me, saying to the man, “What are you doing?”
The pilot wrenches open the side door and I’m blasted by a cold punch of wind and a hard kick of shock. My hair slaps at my cheeks as he—
Jumps!
“Help! Help! Killian, Ten. He hit me!” Sloan’s screaming voice cuts through the brutal bellow of the airstream. “He’s gone!”
Yes. He’s gone. He, our only means of landing. The shock collides with panic, and my brain nearly shuts down. I focus on Killian. “What should we do?”
“Stay here.” He jerks at his seat belt, his expression grim. “And sign with Myriad. Verbalize your agreement to the terms I presented. Don’t risk your Everlife, Ten. Please. If I can’t land the plane...” He shakes his head, as if he’s unwilling to consider the possibility. “Please,” he repeats.
I remind myself I’m no longer a damsel in distress. I can think this through. What I can’t do? Base my decision on fear. Because, while I might be free to make my choice right now, I’ll never be free from the consequences of that choice. And I think I’d rather wind up in Many Ends than in Troika, warring with Killian, or in Myriad, warring with Archer and Clay.
“D-do you know how to fly a plane?” I shout over the squall.
He remains grim-faced. “As a Laborer, I’ve trained for all kinds of situations.”
I’ll take that as a no.
His buckle finally gives, but the plane has taken another dip and dive. He bangs into the wall that divides front from back. A wall he grips, pulling himself around the edge; a Herculean task considering the gale-force wind.
He disappears from sight and a few seconds later, Sloan peeks out from behind the wall. Foolish girl! She’s going to be sucked out!
I lean over and stretch out my arms. “Grab the hooks on the bracelets!”
As soon as she has a firm hold, I tug while she kicks at the wall. Midair, her body begins to edge toward the opened door. I yank with all my might, using a reservoir of strength I didn’t know I possessed.
She plows into Killian’s vacant seat. Shaking, she buckles up. She’s pale, her cheeks stained with dried tears.
Eyes haunted, she asks, “Do you think we’re going to die? Say no, and I’ll believe you. You never lie.”
I meet her gaze and remain silent.
She covers her mouth with an unsteady hand. “We should pick a realm, either realm. Many Ends...”
“Yes,” I tell her. “Choose.” Not knowing what else to do but remembering Archer’s final words to Clay, I whisper, “Archer. I’m asking you for help. Please.”
There’s no bright light, and he doesn’t magically appear.
Sloan must have read my lips. A tremor rocks her against me. “Where is he? Ten, where is he?”
Her panic is kindling for my own, but I manage to tamp it down. “We don’t have to see him to know he’s here.” I’ve learned the hard way.
“What if he’s only allowed to help Troikans?”
“We’re potentials. We qualify.” We must.
“I want to see him. I need to see him.”
I...don’t, I realize, shocked. I trust him. Despite everything—or maybe because of everything—I know he’s doing everything within his power to save us. The real question is—will it be enough?
The plane continues to plummet. My pulse points race harder and faster, as if I’ve been injected with a thousand vials of baiser de la mort.
I glance out the window and see no sign of clouds—only land. Green. Lush. Pretty. We are going to crash. There’ll be no stopping it. Any moment now...
“Brace for impact,” I tell Sloan.
“Ten.” Tears cascade down her cheeks.
“Have you chosen?”
Long locks of her pale hair slap her cheeks as she shakes her head.