Page 97 of Deathless
"Is he..." I couldn't finish the question.
"Breathing," she said. "He's breathing."
I collapsed next to Jasper. His face had gone pale, and he'd closed his eyes, but his chest rose and fell. I pressed my forehead against his shoulder. Gunpowder, copper, sweat. Under the blood and smoke, he smelled like himself. He smelled like theporch at the farmhouse, like mornings I wanted to keep. Mila reached for me with one hand, and I took it.
"You're okay," I said. My voice cracked on it. "You're both okay."
She choked on something that broke halfway out. Then she let go of my hand, wrapped both arms around me and Jasper, and pulled us close. Her pulse raced where her wrist pressed against my neck. Jasper's chest moved under my cheek. The rubble dug into my knees, and the heat from the fire pressed against my back.
Rhadamanthys rushed over and knelt in front of us. "Where's Zeus?"
"Gone," I said. "He left before the fight. I caught him heading for the archway."
“Any sign of Hades?”
I shook my head.
"We need to..."
"No." I shook my head, cutting off Rhadamanthys. “We’re done.”
“But Zeus—”
"He's someone else's problem now." I shoved my shotgun at the Judge. “Me and Jasper and Mila are going home.”
Rhadamanthys looked at me, then at Jasper and Mila. Then he closed his eyes and sighed. “As you wish.”
The Cessna rattled throughturbulence, and my shoulder lit up white-hot from wrist to collarbone.
I gripped the yoke with both hands. The fuel was running low, and the altitude was shit. Every time I moved the yoke, the wound cracked open a little more and fresh warmth ran down my bicep. I'd flown worse. Probably. The details escaped me, but I was sure I had, because the alternative was admitting this was the most dangerous flight of my life, and I didn't have room for that right now.
Behind me, Jasper breathed.
That was all he'd done for twenty minutes. I'd twisted around twice to check on him, and both times he'd been staring at the ceiling with that blank, unfocused look that meant his brain was still rattling around inside his skull. The gash on his temple had stopped bleeding, but the skin around it had gone purple and swollen. The concussion was a bad one.
Mila sat beside him, not across, not by the door where she always put herself. She pressed her shoulder against his arm and rested her hand on his knee.
The third time I looked back, something had changed.
Jasper had curved his arm around her shoulders, fingers slack against her upper arm. She'd tucked herself into his side, her whole weight tipped against his ribs, chin down, eyes closed.
He rested his chin on top of her head.
I turned back to the instruments and swallowed hard.
The comms had been dead since Vihaan's last transmission. I tried the primary frequency and got static. I tried the backup and got static. I cycled through every channel we had and got nothing but white noise and the kind of silence that means nobody's on the other end.
I pushed the thought down and checked the fuel gauge. We had enough to make it if the headwinds got no worse, if the engine held, if my shoulder held, and my vision stayed clear and I stayed conscious.
A lot of ifs sat between us and the ground. I'd built my whole life on ifs: the border guard skipping the second compartment, the tide coming in before dawn, the buyer's money clearing before his patience ran out. One more flight on one more if, and I could do this.
"Papa."
The word came from behind me, quiet and sharp, and I locked my grip on the yoke.
"Papa, you're bleeding again."
"I know." Jasper's voice was rough and slow, the words fighting through fog to reach air. "It's okay."
