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Gunnar
The world is…fuzzy.
Concrete. Starlit sky.
Echo Beach on one side, Celestial Hills on the other.
I’m on the bridge connecting worlds that should never meet.
My head’s a fog, but I sense movement—a shuffle of feet, hushed voices.
“Easy, Gunnar,” Vance’s voice cuts through the haze, his hand gripping my arm like a vice. “You’re back with us now.”
“Where’s…” It comes out as nothing more than a groan.
Words fail me. Vision blurs, sharpens. From the other side of the bridge, a silver outline catches my eye—a ghost.
No…not a ghost.
Aisling.
She turns to wave, a resolute smile on her face, but she’s thrust toward a car, then inside—then gone.
Gone.
“Aisling!” I try to groan, stumble forward.
I can’t. They drugged me with something…or this is a nightmare.
“Can’t worry about that now,” Vance says, pulling me closer. His eyes, those bright blue bastions, try to tell me something. But I’m not buying what he’s selling. Not now.
“Vance…” I start, but my tongue feels like sandpaper. I need water. Answers. A damn plan.
“Let’s get you out of here,” he says, his tone brokering no argument.
I stumble beside him, each step a battle. I want to tear the world apart, brick by brick, until I find her.
But first, I have to deal with the traitor walking by my side. My half-brother—secret keeper, Archangel, and now, in my book, enemy number one.
My legs buckle; gravity’s a traitor too. The bridge under me is firm, but my knees kiss it like it owes them something sweet.
“Damn it, Gunnar, hold on.” Vance’s grip is iron, no give—just the cold press of his fingers digging in.
“Can’t…” My voice trails off. Sounds around me fade out, one by one, until there’s just the rush of blood in my ears and the distant crash of waves against Echo Beach. I claw at consciousness, desperate to cling to the image of Aisling’s retreating form, but it’s slipping, sliding away into darkness.
“Get it together, man!” That’s Rook now, close, a shadow looming over me. His presence is a reminder of pack, of shared blood and unspoken bonds. But it’s not enough to keep the lights on.
“Get him up. We need to move.” Vance’s command, hard as the ground beneath me.
“Working on it,” Rook snaps back, but his voice seems to come from a place far away, muffled by the thick curtain of unconsciousness that’s descending fast.
I try to fight it, I do. For Aisling, for what’s left of my pride. But my body betrays me, and I’m sinking, falling through layers of reality until there’s nothing but the void.
And then, black.
Three days.
Three days I’ve been holed up in this room, the taste of fury and despair thick on my tongue. The walls close in on me, each one whispering Aisling’s name like it’s some cruel joke.
