Page 123 of Victorious

Then something grazed her hand, thin as a strand of hair. Sydney groped for it, but the thread danced away beneath her fingers, darted like a fish in the icy stream. She shivered, reaching desperately into the dark.

I need you, I need you, I need you.

She begged, and then, somewhere, the words twisted, from a plea to a command.

I need you to fix this.

I need you to protect me.

I need you to come back.

Time beyond the bones slowed, the second between the blowing of the door and the agents pouring through drawn long as she felt, faltered, then finally caught hold. As she did, a bolt of cold lanced through her heart. Icy water filled her lungs. But she didn’t let go.

Instead, Syd closed her fist around the thread, and pulled, afraid the brittle string would break under the desperate force, but it held, strong as fingers digging into hers as she hauled the thread out of the dark, and back into the living world.

Sydney tumbled back, collapsing onto the icy roof, unable to breathe, to think, to raise her head.

She knew she had to get up, but she couldn’t.

She was too tired.

The cold was a weighted blanket.

The dark, a welcome hand.

And last thing she saw was a lock of long blond hair, bright as silver against the blackened sky, before the world beneath her shattered like a pane of ice, and she was falling.

IXNOW. THEN.

ELI shot the dog, but not before it tore open his throat.

He emptied the magazine into the animal, which finally loosened its jaws, and toppled sideways, half a dozen darts jutting from its fur, as Eli coughed and rolled over, choking on blood.

For a few awful seconds it was all he was met with, every time he tried to suck in air. Like being waterboarded by your own body. But then the ragged tear began to seal, ropes of scar tissue tracing the outline of the dog’s jaws. He staggered upright, brought one hand to the fat white welts already circling his throat, and glared at the gun still in his other hand, offended by the fact they’d given him darts.

At his feet, the dog lay motionless, barely breathing, but alive.

Eli holstered the gun, spat a final mouthful of blood onto the ground, and took off toward the stairs in Sydney’s wake. Out of the corner of his eye, he’d seen the agents giving chase, heard someone in his ear say the girl was on the roof.

He vaulted up the metal steps, but halfway across the second floor, the world shuddered, like a live feed being interrupted, the signal cutting out between one step and the next as—

Eli stumbled, dropping his books.

He swore, and looked back, eyes snagging the sidewalk, the corner of one stone forced up by a tree root.

Lockland prided itself on its trees. They filled the campus, flanking most of the paths between buildings, a reminder of the university’s age as well as its pedigree.

Eli gathered up the books and got back to his feet.

A crimson leaf was stuck to the knee of his pants. He brushed it off and looked up. The sun was going down, the sky overhead streaked orange and pink, bright enough that it made the world look lamplit. It was his favorite kind of evening. His father hated skies like this—said they were a bad omen—but his father was dead, and Eli relished the way the warm light clashed with the bite in the air. The contrast made the world feel ripe with promise.

And yet—it was the strangest thing. He couldn’t remember if he was heading to class or going back from it. Had the feeling he’d forgotten something, but he just couldn’t—

“Hey, you coming?”

He hadn’t realized how quiet the night was until the voice cut through it, not loud, and yet, crisp and clean and carrying. Eli turned, and saw Victor, dressed in his usual black, his pale face and blond hair like the center of a white-hot flame, blue eyes sharp and cold as ice.

Victor slouched, the way he always did, as if leaning back against an invisible wall. A pen and notebook hung from one hand, the other shoved in his pocket. An odd feeling washed over Eli. A kind of preemptive grief. Dread, or nostalgia, he couldn’t tell, but neither made sense—nothing bad had happened. Would happen. Was happening.