Page 72 of Flickerstate

Now this. My third bite-dream: pancaked by a minivan.

I sit up in bed, shivering when cold air hits my sweat-soaked shirt. I strip the shirt off and toss it at my laundry basket. The shirt, unfurling midair, drops to the floor a foot short. I get up, shove it in the basket, and turn on the lights.

Red stains seep through the bandage covering my bite.

I lock the door, work a nail under the bandage, and rip it off.

The last time I examined my bite, one tooth mark was open and bleeding. Now six are. Another five have scabbed: big, shiny, crimson beads. Only two remain half-real projections, flickering on my skin like uncertain penlights.

Calm, Norah. Calm.

Yes, my bite is progressing faster than normal. But I have a plan. I almost have the Archive. I just have to stay calm.

If I panic, I’ll probably die.

***

Outside the air is black and cold. Goose bumps prickle under my crewneck. Vik isn’t there when I reach the clearing, so I drop my backpack and pace, leaves shushing under my shoes.

The wind picks up, tossing the trees. Branches creak and groan.

Crossing the footpath’s mouth, I pause. Boots are coming toward me. Vik appears and starts down the last stretch of path. “Hey.” He’s stepping over a mossy log when something cracks overhead. Loud as a snapped bone.

I barrel into him. We fall together. Rocky dirt rips open my palms, and air whooshes from his lungs as my body slams onto his.

A heavy branch crashes across the path behind us.

We lie there panting. His body heat radiates against me, and his ribs lift me every time he breathes in.

Blood rushes to my face. I scramble up before I humiliate myself somehow, like by kissing him when I should be making sure he’s okay. “Sorry, I—that branch—”

“Thanks,” he says from the ground. “It would’ve brained me.”

It would’ve brained him.

If I’d walked down the footpath a minute later, it could’ve brained me.

I remember my second death dream: a falling object crushed my skull. In that dream, I was alone. But in my latest dream, Vik was right beside me. Did the van hit him too?

There’s no proof the bitten put bystanders at risk. No proof.

But that branch almost killed Vik.

“Hey.” He sits up. “You all right?”

As soon as I kissed him, I worried how our relationship might affect me. Would it throw me off in the trials? Could it blunt my killer edge? I never worriedIwas puttinghimat risk.

He stands and steps close, still radiating heat. “Are you hurt?”

Thoughts rush at me like bats from an attic:Of course you don’t get to be anus.You’re an intense girl, a control freak, a walking danger zone. You can’t keep friends; you can barely keep teammates.

Why did you think you could keep this?

“Scraped my hands,” I say.

Vik slides his hands under mine and lifts them. In the shadows, blood threads along my lifelines. Tiny pebbles lodge in my torn skin. He hisses through his teeth. “We should pause practice. Go get you cleaned up.”

“We should stop practice.” I force a steady, unemotional voice.