Page 12 of Ignite the Infernos

My body protests uproariously when I finally manage to get back on my feet. I start to unravel the azure fabric from my head and shoulders, but before I can remove more than a single layer, a shock spear sizzles menacingly inches from my face. I trace the electrical current with my eyes and then follow the shaft of the weapon to the Syphon wielding it.

Gable has cut his hair since the last time I saw him. It used to be long, but now it’s sheared close to his head. It looks darker now that it’s short. So does his hazel gaze, but that’s probably because he’s glaring at me right now. Sand clings to one side of his tan face, speckling his cheek and sharp jaw.

Looks like I wasn’t the only one caught off guard by the wards’ defenses.

“I asked you a question,” Gable growls a final warning. “Who are you?”

I know I shouldn’t be offended—this is protocol and it exists because we’re all fluent in betrayal—but the towering Syphon needs to get his taser stick out of my face. He knows damn well I wouldn’t be inside these wards unless I belonged here, and I’ve had about enough of big brutes bossing me around.

Quicker than Gable expects, I wrap the end of my scarf around his weapon and yank it to the side. I spin until the end of the spear is no longer threatening me and bring the shaft down against my knee. It breaks in two with a loud crack, and in less time than it takes for Gable to grunt in shock, I hit him in the stomach with one end and then toss both halves at the other two guards, who start to charge us.

“You know I’m one of you,” I rasp, but of course my voice sounds nothing like it should, thanks to the dry desert air and disuse.

Gable coughs and holds his stomach, and Imogen and Sofann, thankfully, keep their distance. I rush to unwrap the rest of the scarf before anyone else can press their luck. The azure fabric falls away just as Gable straightens, and he reels back. His wide hazel eyes search my face, like he’s afraid to hope that what he’s seeing is real. I’ve been there. I went no contact with hope a long time ago, convinced the emotion only led to devastation. But for the first time in a long time, I find myself reaching for it . . . and I desperately want it to reach back.

“Ever?” he gasps, my name both a startled exclamation and a hopeful demand.

My eyes start to sting again as I nod, and the next thing I know, I’m wrapped up in Gable’s arms and he’s twirling me in a circle while hooting with excitement.

“Is it really you?” he asks as he spins me again and again.

“New and improved,” I croak, struggling to breathe against his tight hold. I slap his bicep twice, indicating that I’m tapping out, and with a booming laugh that reverberates through me, he sets me back on my feet.

Dizziness claims my focus and Gable barks something at Sofann and Imogen. Sofann takes off in the direction of the stack of shipping containers we assembled and layered until it resembled something all of us could live in.

With a stuttered sob, Imogen drops her spear and rushes me. I barely have time to brace for the incoming tackle before we’re both flailing back into the sand. It explodes all around us, barely softening the fall that’s taken us both by surprise. It dawns on me that I’ve lost more muscle than I thought, because Imogen is the smallest of the Syphons and has never been able to take me down like this before.

“Ever, Ever. Ever . . .” she repeats, like she thinks I’ll disappear if she stops chanting my name.

My laugh is strangled by Imogen’s crushing embrace and by the tears that are steadily dripping down my face despite my efforts to stanch them. Relief finally floods me, and with it go the barricades that’ve been holding back my emotions. Iker will lecture me about being the last of my line and an example to the others if he catches me bawling, but now that the tears have started, I don’t know how to make them stop.

Maybe I’ve been holding on to too much for too long, or maybe Wistan carved away my control when he carved away other parts of me. Whatever the reason, I have no choice but to hold on for dear life and ride out the crashing wave.

Imogen is unceremoniously plucked off of me, and Craith is suddenly there offering me a hand up. I want to take it, I try to, but my tank is officially empty and I’ve got nothing left to give. Concern mars his dark features, and the exhilaration in his black gaze abruptly dims.

“We need water,” he frantically shouts, and then he drops down into the sand next to me and takes my hand in his. “You’re okay, Scioness. You’ve made it. We’ve got you.”

“Get her up,” someone commands. I think it’s Elias, but I don’t have the energy to turn my head and look.

Without warning, someone lifts me off the ground and tries to set me back on my feet. My entire body feels like one giant muscle cramp, and I’m only able to stand because whoever’s behind me is supporting all of my weight. The sound around me goes in and out, and my vision blurs before clearing. People’s mouths are moving, and I know they’re asking me questions, or maybe offering reassurances, but my brain is mush and I can’t track anything that’s happening for more than a few seconds.

The last few days of trekking all over The Scorch, setting up fake trails, hiking here in the unforgiving heat from where I ditched the sand cruiser, and the lack of consistent sleep or food are finally taking me to task.

I try to rebound, try to get it together, knowing the others can’t see me like this. There’s too much to do, too much at stake, but the problem is, I’ve spent the last hundred hours rallying and pushing, and I’ve officially hit my limit.

“Did you find Vero and the others?” someone asks—Daria, I’m pretty sure, judging by the blurry honey-blond hair.

That’s next on the list, I try to answer, but I can tell my lips don’t move. I try again, but a booming voice interrupts my efforts and orders everyone to “MOVE!”

Whoever is holding me up doesn’t listen, thank fuck, or I’d crumble into a boneless pile of sand-crusted, sweaty Syphon right now. I catch sight of my sister’s Flight, the group of Syphons and wyverns storming toward me. They part and then suddenly she’s there . . . the Queen of the Syphons . . . Enslee . . . my twin.

One look at my sister, and some of the broken pieces inside of me fit themselves back together. Other pieces, the jagged ones I’ve been holding on to with a shaking, bloodstained grip, finally fall from my grasp and shatter completely.

Enslee races toward me. Her features collapse in relief and pain, and I try to go to her, needing to embrace my sister and soften the razor-sharp edges that are trying to saw us apart. I only manage two steps before the world tilts. I fight it, I demand my senses hold out a little longer, but I’ve lost all command of my faculties. A black nothingness quickly encroaches and the only thing I can focus on before I pass out is . . . where is Enslee’s dragon mark?

Chapter 7

Ever