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“He’s still breathing,” Riot cut in stubbornly, crossing his arms over his chest. “What can you feel through the bond, Gracie?”
“Nothing, but I never can when he’s in the dreamscape.”
Dare returned, handing Grace a cold cloth which she used to dab at his forehead, alternating between pleas, encouragement, and prayers to every deity she could think of except Gaia for Bullet to wake up.
Behind her, I caught the wary look Dare and Riot shot each other, and I gave them both a hard glare. Whatever pessimism they were feeling better not fucking seep through the bond, Grace didn’t need that shit.
She sucked in a horrified breath, and I snapped my gaze back to Bullet’s face, where a thin line of dark blood trickled from his nose.
My chest felt like it was caving in on itself, Grace’s pain and mine combining to create something too heavy for either of us to bear. I couldn’t live with this agony. It was already morphing into something dark and dangerous. My Keres instincts meant I wasn’t someone safe to be around when I was suffering. I focused as hard as I could on Grace’s grief, letting that anchor me before I started ripping the cabin apart.
We hadn’t even gotten a chance to say goodbye. Bullet knew Grace loved him, but did he know how much I cared about him? That I couldn’t imagine a future without him in it? Without the three of us together?
Why hadn’t I told him that?
I should have written it down.
I should have written it down every singleday.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I registered that someone was yelling something from outside the cabin, the threat of violence in the air coating my tongue with the metallic warning signs of the bloodlust.
“I could use a little help here!” Arsène yelled. “Ideally, before I start shooting!”
“Shit,” Dare muttered, stumbling out of the cabin. With a pained look at Bullet, Riot followed, a strangled noise escaping him as he dragged himself away.
Grace sobbed harder, dabbing at the blood tricking down Bullet’s face, and I wasn’t sure she was even aware of what was happening above deck. I tapped her arm to get her attention, my silence feeling more suffocating than ever.
‘Sleep? Look for him.’
It was a stupid suggestion, borne of desperation. There was no way Grace would be able to quiet her mind enough to sleep when Bullet was dying right in front of us.
She shook her head, tears splashing over Bullet’s chest, soaking through the fabric of his shirt. Every drop felt like a dagger in my heart. I needed todosomething.
“Bullet controls the dreamscape, not me.”
Right. And he probably wasn’t in the dreamscape right now, necessarily. Not if he was unconscious.
I swallowed thickly, reaching for the bond with Grace by instinct, trying to smother her terror with calm and reassurance that I wasn’t even feeling myself.
The bond.
Maybe I was being overly optimistic, but for me, the bond was a beacon of sorts, lighting the way to Grace. To her soul, to the very core of her being.
If it was possible…
‘Use the bond?’I signed hesitantly, wishing I could communicate more easily, that I could explain to Grace the way she felt to me.
“How?” Grace replied, cutting me a frustrated look that quickly turned apologetic. She paused, frowning down at herself. “Maybe… I can’tfeelhim through the bond now, or whenever he’s in the dreamscape, but maybe I can draw him to me somehow. Or maybe I could follow it and use it as a guide rope? I don’t… I don’t know if it would do anything, if it would help. But if I concentrate, I can visualize the bond—it’s like strands of moonbeam between each of us.”
That almost made me smile in spite of the overwhelming crush of desperation threatening to pull me under. We looked like moonbeam to Grace, like Nyx’s night. The bond to Grace onmyend looked like a thread of pure golden sunshine—brilliant, yet gentle at the same time. I gently took the wet cloth from Grace’s hand, encouraging her to focus while I dabbed at the steady trickle of blood.
If there was a chance, I knew without a fraction of a doubt that we’d both take it. And if anyone could track Bullet via a metaphysical thread and bring him back from the cusp of death, it’d be Grace.
She rested her palms on Bullet’s chest, exhaling heavily and closing her eyes. Tears clung to her dark lashes, leaving wet tracks down her reddened cheeks. Heartbreakingly beautiful, and beautiful in heartbreak.
For a long moment there was only the sound of her breathing, deep and unnaturally even, forcing herself to calm. Maybe I’d asked too much of her—Grace may be the Prophêtis, but she wasn’t a goddess herself, and I’d never been much of a believer in the supposed power of love to save all.
The shouting from overhead grew louder, more urgent. They needed me up there—if it came to a fight, I was the best hope we had. As much as I wanted to stay, protecting the boat meant protecting Bullet and Grace as well.
