girl needed sugar therapy...
I’m only halfway through when a horrible fog fills my head. A terrible ringing erupts in my ears. My heartbeat...warps, reduced to nothing but flutters, as if someone reached inside me and nailed the organ to my rib cage. Pain radiates from my left shoulder to the tips of my fingers.
Too young for a heart attack.
Muttering enters my awareness.
“—voice gives me a headache. Shut up.” Killian.
“How about I cut off your ears instead?” Archer.
I’m not sure if Killian responds. The pain in my shoulder increases exponentially, and I gasp. Buckets of sweat pour from me and yet the blood in my veins freezes. I open my mouth to cry for help—please!—but all I can manage is another gasp. Then I feeeel my heart welcoming death, fluttering one moment, going still the next. My lungs seize up, and suddenly I can’t breathe, can’t breathe, need to breathe.
The fog in my head grows thicker until—
The fog vanishes in an instant. And so does the pain. Suddenly I’m weightless, and I’m falling...falling...thud.
TROIKA
From: A_P_5/23.43.2
To: L_N_3/19.1.1
Subject: Now What?
I’m with Ten, and we’re headed to LA to see her dying mother. Killian is with us and the urge to attack now and apologize later is strong. Please advise.
TROIKA
From: L_N_3/19.1.1
To: A_P_5/23.43.2
Subject: My Best Advice
Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.
General Levi Nanne
TROIKA
From: A_P_5/23.43.2
To: L_N_3/19.1.1
Subject: Wow! Thanks!
Are your pearls of wisdom actually plastic?
TROIKA
From: L_N_3/19.1.1
To: A_P_5/23.43.2
Subject: All Right, How About This?
Don’t just protect the girl—get to know her better. I realize you like to maintain a bit of distance with your assignments because of what happened with Dior, but caring for someone doesn’t weaken you, son, it makes you stronger. To love is to have a reason to fight for something better.
Also, Miss Lockwood’s grandparents are Troikan Watchers and they’ve informed me there’s talk in Myriad of another attempt on Miss Lockwood’s life. Do not leave her side.
TROIKA
From: A_P_5/23.43.2
To: L_N_3/19.1.1
Subject: Seriously
Corroded plastic. But I won’t leave her side by choice. You have my word.
TROIKA
From: Unknown
To: A_P_5/23.43.2
Subject: Hi
She died. You should have saved her. Why didn’t you save her? She died at 10:17 on November 12 of this year. Details attached.
TROIKA
From: A_P_5/23.43.2
To: Unknown
Subject: Who Is This?
How did you access my rank and ID?
And how could she—whoever she is—have died on November 12 at 10:17 of this year? That date is a week away.
As for your attachment with “details”? It’s a crudely drawn map to a crack house. Thanks, but no thanks.
chapter seventeen
“Truth evolves. What is true today may not be true tomorrow.”
—Myriad
I roll over bumpy ground, air exploding from my lungs.
Gleeful laughter assaults my ears just before something hard slams into my stomach. A boot? Then a bird squawks, and the laughter stops. Footsteps. A man screams in pain. A second later, a lot of someones are screaming.
Get up! Get up! Danger!
I pry open my eyelids, expecting to see Killian and Archer with blades at each other’s throats. At the very least, I should be inside the SUV, surrounded by paved roads, trees and buildings. Instead I see moonlight and ember-bugs, gnarled trees with toothy leaves that are snapping at me.
The Realm of Many Ends?
No, no, no. I’m not dead. Not again. I can’t be.
But I am. Clearly.
My heart—finally working again—trips in panic. There are no monkey-skeletons in the sky, at least. Did they already capture prey? I draw in a deep breath, but the thick smoke and black clouds burn my throat, making me cough. A storm is brewing. In a place like this, I don’t think I’ll be treated to ordinary rain.
Weapon up. Now. The more the better.
Right. I search the ground, find a fallen twig. The moment I grab it, a sharp sting causes the muscles in my fingers to spasm. I drop the twig and watch as three beads of blood well in my palm.
Three...a triad. The noblest of all numbers. The only number equal to the sum of the numbers below it.
Troika.
The wells are...puncture wounds? Crouching down, I study the short, wrist-thick piece of wood, only then seeing the little brown bugs crawling all over it. And—
Oh. Wow, wow, wow. Dizziness nearly topples me. As I fight to remain standing, a crack of thunder booms so loudly my eardrums actually rupture. Grimacing, I stand. Again I teeter. With a single step forward, I almost face-plant. Ember-bugs were waiting nearby and now strike en masse, burning me.
I wave my arms. Another crack of thunder causes pain to explode through my skull. I cover my ears, but as the third crack sounds, I