Page 267 of Burn Her They Said
Forgetting what it is to be just a magical being. One who cares for others and fucks it all up regardless. My Gods. How in the fuck am I going to report this?
No. I swivel around, hoping this is all a joke. Just one big, coordinated effort to get back at me for all of my terrible attempts at humor.
Because this can’t be happening. It’s my worst fucking nightmare. One I need to wake up from—to find them laughing before they complain and refuse to clean the latrines like usual. I don’t care about protocol. They can refuse all they want, so long as they all fucking get up.
Shattered breaths crowd my chest as I frantically search the ground, losing count of the bodies strewn around me, each one appearing too peaceful—as if they’re all simply sleeping.
But I haven’t seen Jase’s face, and hope bursts within my ribs that he might have been able to get out of range fast enough.
Maybe his incessant need to eat will end up being the thing that saved him. From me.
My heart lurches at the thought I could be wrong, at my selfish need for my best friend to have been spared when all the others lie here lifeless.
I want to run and hide. To close my eyes and refuse to see the closer I move toward the canteen. But I cannot be my father. I refuse to be the coward who hides from all the damage I’ve caused.
I need to see it all. I have to face what I have done.
My feet continue on, propelled by a lifetime of guilt and shame, and then my heart shatters.
Because there he is. And no amount of denial can change it.
That spray of black hair. It’s so distinctly him.
I blink against the onslaught of tears, swiping at each eye to try to clear my vision. Needing to see what I’ve done to him.
It doesn’t matter that he couldn’t just be sleeping, because some part of me holds onto the fragmented hope that maybe?—
No. Fuck hope. All it ever does is make the sting of reality worse once it finally crushes your heart.
I fall to the ground so hard it jolts through my bones, though nothing can shake me enough to keep me from staring, waiting for his green eyes to open. Just one more time.
Please.
How is he so still? So quiet?
“I don’t care that you’re always moving,” I say. “I won’t even complain about you making too much noise. I promise. Just get up, Jase. Please.”
My eyes trace him again.
“You can yell at me. You can scream in my face. I don’t care that they’ll want to write you up for insubordination.”
I take his hand in mine and flinch at how warm it still is.
My heart kicks hard against my ribs. “Healer! I need a healer!” I scream, even though I know this heat isn’t a sign he’s alive, for his chest neither rises nor falls.
And even if he were sleeping, he’d still be tossing and turning because he’s always moving.
No. This isn’t Jase. Not anymore.
A sob rips from my chest, and I double over, slumped over my best friend. Who will never laugh or tell a joke again.
Because I killed him.
“What did you do, Euclid?”
My nostrils flare as I refuse to look up at the General who gave the order before speeding away to keep himself safe.
A groan pulls me back to the present, and my eyes widen at how low the stone hovers over Lars’ chest, sparking a sense of urgency in me—effectively thawing my freeze.
