Page 63 of Flickerstate

I force myself to breathe. To smile. “Second-floor sampling distributions, here we come.”

We’re on track for the Archive. We’ll walk through that corniced door.

I’m fine. I’m alive.

For now. For now. For now.

Chapter Fifteen

Thursday evening before the second trial, we vote to make Candace our main navigator. When I raise my hand, my fingers tremble. Ialmost beg my teammates to reconsider:My fire hurts you, but we know it works. Can’t you white-knuckle through the pain for the W?

I bite my cheek hard. Bree won’t change her mind. And Candace will have noticed my shaking fingers. I don’t want to blow my lid and give her a better look at the roiling terror underneath. I don’t want to undermine her confidence with my fear. Navigation’s always a game of chance, I suppose. I’ve got to bet on Candace now. Go all in with her for real.

“All right, then,” she says after a pause, looking at me.

She was giving me time to freak-out. She wanted to know whether I’d go back on my word. Another test. I can’t resent it: I almost failed.

I grin unsteadily. “Kill it.”

She gives me a prim smile. “I intend to.”

“Now that’s decided, can we practice?” I say. “I need to perfect my solar power. Don’t want to give you guys blistering sunburns tomorrow. For the ninth time.”

Bree laughs out loud. Soon we’re all laughing, a little hysterical, but real and warm. It feels like solidarity. Like friendship.

Like the calm before a hurricane.

***

On Friday, I blink awake before my alarm. Sleep has not refreshed me. I had nightmares again. Ugly, jumbled images.

Triangular teeth kissing my bicep.

Mom and Jo staring down at me where I’m trapped in a deep well. Me clawing at the slick stone walls till my nails bleed, screaming for help. Them not moving, tears running down their blank faces.

Dad dying every death I saw in flickerstate. His skull crushed like a deflated basketball. His mouth foaming pink. His fingers clawing his shirtfront while he topples onto his face.

My hands feel numb. I delete every second letter as a typo when I text Vik:Keep our meeting this time?

I drop the phone to my chest and stare at the dark ceiling. I’ve been running on fumes for weeks. I should be conserving the dregs of my energy for the trial. Why make plans to fail at leaguing for the umpteenth time?

Because Vik’s my friend. Because…

My phone buzzes on my sternum. The vibration fizzes my heartbeat.

Sure thing,he’s texted back.

When I walk into the clearing ten minutes later, he’s already there. He angles his flashlight so it illuminates me without blinding me. “You okay?”

I glance down. It’s habit now to check my clothes for blood in response to questions like that. In the low light, my white shirt glows ghostly.

“You just looked upset,” he says.

“That’s my lapidary face.”

“What?”

“Lapidary. It means—”