Page 201 of Stormbreaker

“It’s okay, Trouble,” Rook says softly. “I’m getting us out of here. Not too far to go.”

I want to nod. I want to hug him, but also punch him, because I’m so confused and turned around. I want him to keep talking. He said he’d tell me everything, but he grunts and strains against the weight of our packs, his injury, and my limp body. He needs to focus on getting us to safety.

But where is that? And is safe even a possibility?

The Wastes. He said he’s taking me to the Wastes. My mind screams with the possibilities of what that means.

We keep walking, and I’m not sure how long it takes, but everything feels like it’s taking too long.

Rook is sweating, his arms trembling beneath me, his breathing labored as he presses forward. He’s always seemed so formidable, so unshakable, but Rook is only human, too.

He stops every few minutes to ensure we aren’t being followed. The path behind us remains quiet, but I don’t trust it. I’m not sure I can trust anything ever again.

That’s when I notice I can finally wiggle the tips of my fingers. I whimper, trying to signal that the stunner’s effects are wearing off. He looks down at me, and I blink and blink.

“What is it?” he asks. I groan again, wiggling my fingers and then my whole hand.

Relief softens his features. “Thank fuck,” he says. “I was worried . . .” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. You’ll be okay soon.”

He says it firmly, like he’s trying to convince himself, and I frown, my eyebrows drawing together. It’s instinctual but also like stretching sore, unused muscles because I can move again.

“Almost there,” he reassures me as he walks.

The sawing sound of his breath echoes against the walls, and I’m not sure if I imagine his pace slowing. I estimate another ten or fifteen minutes before Rook stops and places me back on the ground. He moans as he drops our packs and stands up to stretch his back and shoulders. Sweat drips down his temples and his throat, soaking the tips of his hair. He must be exhausted. I can’t believe he carried me all that way.

He faces the far wall, pressing his hands to the surface as he takes a minute. My limbs are tingling, slowly regaining feeling. I shuffle my leg, sliding it across the ground, and Rook spins at the sound, dropping into a crouch. He’s pale, the color leached from his skin, dark circles ringing his eyes.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

I nod, and despite everything, we both nearly smile, because I can fucking nod again.

“We have a little way to go until we reach the exit,” Rook says, pointing into the dark. “We’ll rest a minute. Hopefully you can walk soon.”

He sinks to the floor, leaning against the far wall. His eyes slide closed as his breathing labors. Even from here, I can see that he’s shaking. I need to cast off this paralysis. If we have any hope of surviving, I need to walk. He can’t possibly carry me another step.

I focus on my useless limbs, willing them to move. My hand clenches into a fist, and I slowly lift my arm, like I’m breaking out of a lacquered shell.

“Rook,” I manage to whisper, though it comes out garbled over my frozen tongue.

His eyes snap open. He crosses the tunnel in an instant, fully alert again.

“It’s wearing off,” he says, taking my hand and kissing my knuckles. “Fuck, I was so worried.”

I realize all his assurances were as much for him as myself. We wait a few more minutes as feeling returns to the rest of my body. I’m weak and shaky, but I think I can finally walk.

“We should keep moving,” Rook says. “I know you’re confused and have a million questions, but we can’t do this here.” Every word comes out of him like a stone pushed through a wall.

“You need help,” I say, gesturing to him where fresh blood has started seeping through his bandages and his shirt.

“I’m fine,” he says. “We can’t stop here.”

He isn’t fine, but he’s already taking my hand and pulling me up. I grab one of the packs and sling it over my shoulders while he picks up the second one.

“Let’s go,” he says, taking my hand as we continue winding deeper. Everything is silent except for the sound of our steps and heavy, sawing breaths.

Now that he’s no longer carrying me and two bags, Rook seems to have caught a second wind as he urges me to pick up my pace.

“Almost there,” he says after we’ve both been quiet for a while. “Don’t stop.”