The floor pulls out from under me, but I won’t let the Game Master have the satisfaction of seeing me faint.
“Are you fucking happy now?” I demand, needing to brace my good hand on the floor to stop from faceplanting into the tile, which only pisses me off more. “The trial is over, you sickfuck!”
There’s a hiss from the speaker turning on, but the Game Master doesn’t talk. Instead, he… laughs?
Rumbling and deep and genuinely delighted. The sound starts low, then builds in volume until it’s pouring out of the speakers and echoing off the walls.
“You sick piece of shit, you think this is funny?” I scream.
The laughter fades.
“Oh, my dear Eden,” he says. “I did not expect this.”
The lightbulb goes out. The sudden shift to pitch black makes my already pulsing head lurch sideways. I scream for Nico, but don’t know if he responds or where he is when the floor rushes up to greet me.
CHAPTER 43
Shock will kill you slower than a gunshot wound, but it’s equally deadly.
—Everything You Need to Know About Emergency Medicine (When You Can’t Go to the ER)by Benjamin Ashford
My eyes open to darkness. I blink hard, once, twice, but nothing changes.
Am I dead? The idea should scare me more than it does, but mostly I feel confused. Shouldn’t there be a tunnel? Mom and Dad and Rosie waiting?
A groan escapes my lips.
“Eden?” Nico says. His voice has lost that steady control he usually has. “Eden, can you hear me?”
“Nico?”
“I’m here.” Hands tighten on my shoulders, and then he’s holding me. One of his arms supports my shoulders, and my head rests on his thigh.
“The Game Master turned off the lights,” he says. “You were out a couple minutes.”
I move to grab hold of him with both hands because I need to know he’s real, but pain detonates in my left hand like a bomb. It drags a strangled cry from my throat, then another, each pulse wringing more noise from deep inside me.
“I know it hurts,” Nico says, and he slides a hand around to the back of my head. “I’m here. I got you.”
I grip my wrist instinctively, but my fingers hit something rigid and tightly wrapped around my forearm. A belt.
My abs engage to sit up, but I stay glued to the floor. Nico’s arm becomes a solid wall behind my back, taking most of my weight as he eases me upright. Once I’m sitting up, Nico wraps both of his hands around my stump, his hands engulfing what’s left of mine. The pain reduces the world to nothing but the singular overwhelming point on my hand.
He swallows audibly, and this time he manages his full count before he says: “What the hell were you thinking?”
“It’s only some fingers.” My tongue feels too big for my mouth. “I never use them for anything, anyway.”
He doesn’t laugh.
“At least it’s not my dominant hand,” I say. “I still have my thumb, so it could have been a lot worse.”
His breath comes down against my forehead. Not being able to see makes everything feel closer, like the room has shrunk around us and the only thing that still exists are his hands clamped around the pain.
“Why would you do this?” he whispers.
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” I manage. “One of us had to do the trial, and I didn’t want it to be you. I was scared for you, okay?”
Each second lengthens.
