“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 make toward the apartment on foot until we can find a bus or train that’s still running, which could take all afternoon. I need to get it together. Ania can’t carry me for miles.
“Hold up,” I say, pulling away to lean against the side of a brightly lit coffee shop. This whole thing is manageable. I’ve pulled myself together before. I’ve let the seams get loose, though, let too much spill out into the open. Left myself vulnerable.
I can fix that.
I open the drawer in my mind where I keep all my horrors—all the details of the spellplague, my parents—and shove it all deep, deep down. Awful memories, anger, grief, everything scrabbles at the edges with long tendrils and spindly legs, desperate to get out, but I slam the drawer shut before anything can escape.
It can never close all the way. There’s always a crack. But I can pull off my usual self. Lock it away. It doesn’t exist. Spellplague? What spellplague? I don’t know, man, I just live here.
I take three long, deep breaths in through my nose, then push off from the wall.
“Okay,” I say. “Sorry. Let’s go. I’ll get us home.”
Ania watches me, cautious and worried, but follows me down the alley behind the shop all the same.
It takes us nearly an hour to find a bus along the right route to take us back to the apartment, then another hour of hopping from bus to bus to get around earthquake-damaged sectors before we finally make it back to the right part of town. None of the RidePods are accepting passengers, either due to overflow or because the police have shut the system down while they get control of the situation. During the ride, I compose and delete no less than twelve messages to Davon. What the hell am I supposed to say? Probably best not to involve him anyway. Don’t want the police knocking down his door looking for me. The need to reach out to him thrums like a constant vibration under my breastbone, though.
I’m sure he wasn’t there. I’m sure he’s fine. He usually works on the other side of town. Nothing to worry about.
Jaesin and Remi are completely radio silent the entire time, which is worrying, but not entirely surprising. If I let my mind wander for so much as a second, it starts replaying that moment on the bridge, the maz, Remi, my reaction to their touch, everything it brought up. We’ve had so many almosts over the years we’ve known each other, but I’ll bet anything that moment on the rooftop last night was the last one. I’ve finally closed the door on that possibility forever.
Maybe it’s for the best.
They probably both hate me now. Doesn’t stop me from worrying, though. We’ll see them soon, anyway. I know this city the way I know computers, and that’s saying something. Though we hit detour after detour, I get us closer and closer with every turn. We’re nearly home. Nearly safe.
(Nearly somewhere I can close myself off and sit in a dark room for a few hours and breathe, breathe, breathe. . . .)
We round the final corner to the block dominated by the Cliffs, and I’m already dreaming of the dinner Jaesin will make (dumplings, he always makes dumplings when he’s stressed). My delicious thoughts are interrupted, though, when I’m yanked back into an alcove next to the twenty-four-hour beauty salon and a hand clamps down over my mouth. I thrash and struggle for a second, until Jaesin’s voice hisses in my ear, “Chill the hell out, Diz!”
I chill the hell out. As soon as I stop struggling, he lets me go, and I see Remi do the same with Ania.
“What the hell?” Ania hisses, backing away to get a little personal space. “Why aren’t you at the flat?”