Spellhacke- M. K. England Page 0,37

of the hack. What did I do wrong? There were no indications that there would be a problem, no overload notices, no complaining sensors, until that one pressure blip out of nowhere. And there’s no reason bleeding off the pressure at the other tap points shouldn’t have worked. Even Remi didn’t feel anything until it was too late, way too sudden, just—HOW?

“Diz,” Ania says, her voice knife sharp. “Focus before you trip over your own feet and get trampled.”

But focus is impossible. Because when we turn to cross the bridge over the river, trying to get to the train station, the elevation provides us an even better view of the disaster in progress.

Of the maz pouring out from the junction station in tangled waves.

All the people who work at that station, who go there every day to earn money and a maz stipend for their families, they’re all going to be ill. And it’s our fault.

My fault.

I come to a stop at the apex of the bridge and watch the different strains of maz swirling through the air over the station like a glowing, glittering breeze.

“Those people—”

I break off and gag. My dad died at work, at this station, just like this. Just like this. My stomach roils with hot acid, and my throat contracts, trying to force me to vomit. I’m seven years old again, drowning in the smell of death, a lifeless hand holding mine, the panic, the gnawing emptiness in my belly, the strange people, the stinking crowds, the group home, the other empty-eyed kids, it’s too much, too much, and I don’t notice I’ve fallen to my knees until the chill of the concrete bites into the already torn skin there and sharp blades of grit dig into my palms. I can’t get a breath, can’t satisfy my hungry lungs, and I gasp, gasp—

An arm loops around my waist and hauls me up, slings my arm over a strong shoulder. Jaesin, dragging me to my feet and down the bridge, catching us up with Ania and Remi, who stare up at us.

Remi. Brow crinkled in worry. Looking pale and shaky.

They reach out to lay a hand on my shoulder as we draw near, and I recoil so hard Jaesin slams into the people next to us and nearly drops me.

“Don’t touch me.”

The words rip from my throat, my voice inhuman and harsh, sounding horribly far away. Echoing off cheap bathroom tile in a seven-year-old’s high, frightened voice.

Remi’s expression goes cold, so closed off it’s like a detonator spell went off in my chest. But I can’t. I need to shut down, feel nothing, and when Remi touches me . . .

I just can’t.

Ania takes over for Jaesin and turns us toward a side street. “We should split up, in case we were spotted. They’ll be looking for four people. We’ll meet back at your place, right?”

Jaesin nods his agreement and guides Remi away with a hand on their back. Before they turn, though, he shoots me a look, more furious than I’ve ever seen him. I catch a last glimpse of Remi’s face too. Blank. Resigned. I’ve ruined everything. I’ve finally done it—well and truly pushed them away, for good this time. I squeeze my eyes shut and lean more heavily on Ania.

“Oof,” she says, readjusting her hold on me. “I know you’re having a hard time right now, love, but I need you to help me out a bit here unless you want me to drop your ass in the middle of Montague Station like that night with the burritos and the goat.”

The memory of that night is enough to penetrate the fog in my brain. I manage to get my feet more firmly under me and do a stumbling walk toward the train station, eyes locked on the ground the whole way. One thing at a time. Get to the station. Repeat it until there’s nothing else in my brain. Train station, train station, train station, until they don’t even sound like words anymore, just a droning noise to keep out the rest.

But the train station isn’t the answer after all. We round the last corner, only to find a ring of flashing lights and uniformed bodies between it and us. The officers hold the panicking crowds at bay, directing people toward detours and scanning the crowd with sharp eyes.

Scanning for us?

Shit.

Ania tugs me around, presenting our backs to the police, and we dive into the thickest part of the crowd. We’ll have to