Page 39 of Gilded Princess

I crack an eyelid open, groaning at the movement and dropping my head to the side. My neck feels weak, limp, and I don’t understand what’s going on or where I am.

The voices get louder, and I think I recognize one. My brows wrinkle in confusion. “Lainey? Is that you?” I ask, but my mouth isn’t working properly.

A loud rumble cracks through the air, and it feels like the floor beneath my feet sways.

Wait. When did the chair get upright?

I lift my head up and squint at the two figures arguing in front of me.

“Am I dreaming?” My voice doesn’t sound like my own, and it takes me a moment to realize my ears are ringing and I still have the gag in my mouth.

Something loud crashes somewhere, the noise reverberating through the whole building, shaking the floors and walls. Dust and debris fall from the ceiling and settle on my lap and the tops of my shoes.

I shake my head to the side in a desperate attempt to clear it and make sense of the scene in front of me. I open my mouth to voice one of my many questions when I feel the pressure around my wrists go slack.

My hands immediately go to the gag in my mouth. I wrench it out and take a large lungful of air. I realize my mistake when a cough wracks my body, the concrete dust and mold floating in the beam of sunshine in front of my face. The danger of what I just inhaled gets shoved to the back burner, more pressing matters at hand.

Another rumble cracks through the air, and either the building moves or I have a serious head injury because it feels like I’m on the damn teacups ride that I hate.

The shrill noise of windows breaking adds to the chaos unfolding. Guns pointed, dust billowing, frenzied conversation.

A loud boom adds a baseline to the destruction all around me, and the ground shifts again. I feel the pressure on my ankles release, and suddenly I’m not tied to the chair anymore.

Voices raise, yelling something I can’t quite make out, but I don’t have time to worry about that right now. I have to get out of here, but I’m not leaving without her.

My best friend looks at me, eyes wide and indecision on her brow. She hauls me up from the chair and practically drags me out of the room. My legs are asleep, and I keep tipping toward the right side.

Lainey’s grip is strong as she wraps her arm underneath my arms, holding me to her body as we navigate the building.

We dodge fallen beams and missing stairs as we make our way down a set of stairs. We’re nearly to the landing when a large piece of the ceiling falls, crashing to the floor next to us with a deafening thud. We scream so loud I feel the fear etch into my bones.

Lainey doesn’t move, she just stares at the busted piece of the roof, and even though I have less than zero idea what the hell is going on, I do what I always do, and take care of us.

I lace my fingers with my cousin’s, and pull her down the remaining two sets of stairs. We skid to a stop at the bottom of the last staircase, both of us looking around at the destruction.

It looks like a battleground.

Metal pipes, wood beams, and concrete pieces are everywhere.

Piles of garbage, broken and molded palettes, and forgotten pieces of machinery litter the space.

I don’t know how I got inside, and I have no idea which path to take to get the hell out. Something rattles nearby, and my pulse jumps to hummingbird level, threatening to beat right out of my chest.

The urge to move and move now pounds at my tender temples. As if she can read my mind, Lainey tugs on my hand.

“Follow me and stay close.”

I think I respond, but there’s a persistent ringing noise in my ears, and if she can hear me, she doesn’t show it. She tugs our joined fingers again, and without looking at me, starts cutting a path through this destruction graveyard, dodging trash and debris with precision.

The next thing I know, I’m standing in the street in front of the warehouse. Alone.

The sun beats down on me, making the thick layer of dirt and dust stick to my sweaty skin like a paste.

Squinting my eyes against the bright light, I spin in a circle, looking for someone—anyone—to help.

But there might as well be a tumbleweed rolling across my feet for what I find. The loud sound of the ocean fills my head like I stuck a seashell up to my ear.

It must be a trick.

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