Page 46 of Resurgent

“You don't have to be ready for everything. You just have to be ready for the next thing.”

For some reason, that lands harder than it should.

“You know, when you’re not being a complete asshat, you’re annoyingly reasonable.”

“I've been told that before,” he laughs.

“By Dax?”

“Frequently.”

I laugh, and Korr's mouth curves slightly.

For a few minutes, neither of us says anything as we sit beneath an enormous sky, eating food from a truck in the middle of nowhere.

It isn't friendship, but it also isn't anything else.

We’re just two people who don't quite know each other, sitting across from one another and, somehow, understanding a little more than they did when they left the house this morning.

Eventually, Korr stands, hand stretched to help me up.

“Come on. Let’s go home.”

“Home,” I repeat softly as I walk to mount a still-lying-down Tyr.

Chapter sixteen

Annalise

Gods. Damnit.

I want—no, I need—to feel the ground shift evenly beneath my feet, but it doesn’t. And it’s all my fault.

My scattered thoughts. My uneven strides.

Every step I've been desperate for feels wrong, like my own body has turned against me. I fight to keep my leg from betraying me, but every falter sends another spike of panic through my chest, shaking my already fragile composure.

How am I supposed to survive a war against Clowess when I can't even make it through a simple run through campus without my body betraying me?

I push harder, letting Our Last Midnight's "Hold On To Me" fill my ears, the lyrics urging me forward when my body wants to give up.

One more step.

Then another.

My foot catches, and I stumble ungraciously.

A sharp breath leaves me as I throw my arms out, barely catching myself on a nearby tree before I hit the ground.

I can feel his eyes assessing me, but if I look now, I fear I’ll give in to the leg trembles I’ve been ignoring since I tied my shoes.

I hate it. I hate the weakness. I hate the hesitation. I hate that my body, which has survived beatings, battles, and things far worse, suddenly doesn't know how to do something as simple as run.

The urge to scream claws its way up my throat, and I’m afraid if I give in now, I may never be able to dig myself out of this despair, regardless of how many therapy sessions Dean Stevens forces on me.

Straightening, I take a breath.

Then another.