I caught a glimpse of him a moment ago—standing, steady, stubborn as ever. A white bandage peeks from beneath the collar of his shirt. His movements are slower, careful.
Alive.
Walking out on his own.
It should be simple relief. It should be gratitude and nothing else.
Instead, it’s relief tangled in barbed wire.
He was shot and almost died.
Because of the Noths.
No…not just them.
Sam too.
My phone vibrates in my hand, sharp and sudden, the buzz loud in the hollow space inside my chest. I glance down automatically.
Teddie’s face lights up the screen—mid-laugh, eyes bright, hair wind tousled. My own mouth curves before I can stop it.
“Teddie.”
Relief loosens something deep in my shoulders, so sudden and intense I have to reach out and brace my palm against the cool wall beside me.
He’s okay.
He’s safe.
He’s—
“Bry.”
The single syllable erases my smile.
His voice is wrong.
Thin. Reedy. Like a song played through broken speakers. The vibrant, kinetic energy that defines him—the laugh that always sounds like it’s on the verge of becoming chaos—is gone. What replaces it is brittle. Fragile.
“Hey, sis. Before you freak out…I’m okay. Caran’s okay. Everyone’s okay. Fuck, I’m so relieved thatyou’reokay. Do you know how worried I was? I could barely sleep. Caran had to?—”
Guttural coughs tear through the line, raw and scraping.
My chest tightens painfully.
“What’s wrong? You sound…” I swallow back the wordsick. “Tired.”
Understatement of the century. But if I push too hard, he’ll shut down out of sheer, stubborn pride.
There’s a rustling sound, fabric against fabric, like he’s waving off my concern. “It’s nothing. Just a little under the weather. You know how it is.”
The lie is almost insulting.
He has never been able to lie to me. Not convincingly. Our twin bond isn’t sentimental nonsense—it’s a wire pulled tight between us, humming with truth. And right now, it’s screaming.
How bad is it?
Where’s Caran?
