Page 179 of Storm Caller

For once, I don’t recoil from his touch.

Maybe it’s a mark of how much I’ve changed that I don’t feel anything at all.

“Wake up. Wake up,” I repeat over and over as I try to jump-start Rook’s heart. “Please. Please. I can’t do this without you.”

Shots fire, pinging against the wall and the ceiling.

The Fog is still fighting the general and her Guards.

I listen for Rook’s pulse. Feel for his breath. Still nothing.

“Wake up!” I scream before I resume compressions and then blow into his mouth again. He’s fading. I can feel it. How much longer until we can’t get him back?

I’ll never forgive myself. I don’t know how I’ll go on knowing I was the reason for his death. It should have been me. I should never have trusted Sol. I should never have let him come back here.

I know he wanted the cure, but he did it for me because I couldn’t let go of this place.

And then, when he could have left, he stayed for me.

I should have told him to go home that night at the rock wall.

I should have insisted on finding the cure without him.

One. Two. Three.

I press and press, then blow into his mouth again. Sweat drips into my eyes, sliding off the tip of my nose. Or maybe that’s my tears. I’m not really sure anymore. My breath stutters, choking out in tight gasps.

Please. Please. Please.

I grow weak. Dizzy.

Someone offers to step in, but I practically growl at whoever it is to back off.

Rook is mine.

He is mine to fix.

To save.

He is mine to bring back into this world.

Then . . . he coughs.

Air rushes into my lungs, and we both start breathing again.

Water sputters from his mouth, and he groans.

My father is at my side, rolling Rook into a rescue position as he hacks up bile. Thank Skies. He’s fucking breathing.

“Rook,” I sob, kneeling over him, not sure if I should touch him, even though I want to wrap him in my arms and never let go again.

Another few seconds pass, and then his eyes slowly open.

“I was so scared,” I whisper, pressing my face to his cheek.

He moans and reaches for me, his fingers fluttering against a loose strand of my hair.

“You’re alive,” I whisper.