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PROLOGUE
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The resounding ticking of the second hand on the clock above my head.
The warbled thumps of boots wearing a path across the carpet.
The chugging of my heart, expanding and contracting, pulsing in my ears.
Thud—
A door opening.
“Is it her?” Waylon.
Silence.
The hands cupped loosely in my lap blur, just as a hitched gasp rips across the room, quickly followed by something hitting the floor.
Thud.
It echoes, echoes, echoes…
“Mason?”
My name comes out slow and distorted, as if I’m hearing it from underwater, and it echoes too, even though the voice comes from right next to me.
When did Ivy get here? I wonder vaguely, frowning.
I swallow, and it occurs to me that I can’t remember the last time I did that—swallow. Something that should be simple, effortless, and yet my body protests, bile surging upward as I choke on a gasp.
Squeezing my eyes and lips shut, I massage my sternum and throat as I push it down.
Don’t think about it.
I run the back of the hand I barely register as my own across my parched lips, and finally lift my gaze, looking around, but not really taking anything in.
The seconds drag, as evidenced by the slowed, discordant ticking of the clock.
Albany.
We were playing a show in Albany.
A packed venue. Sold out.
They cut our set short, rushed us out of there.
I pinch my lip ring between my fingers, shaking my head, brow furrowing as I run through everything that happened tonight—trying to piece together how I got here.
Here being a hospital in Danville, Pennsylvania, just over an hour from home. Three hours from where our tour stopped tonight.
“My phone’s dead, what’s going on?”
“Where’s Jeremy?”
“Where’s Will?”
“Where’s Ivy?”
