Page 117 of The Last Lost Girl

Hudson steps back into his quarters while Belle and I are arguing, but stays near the doors and leans against the wall.

I hate that he’s witnessing yet another one of our fights, but there’s no doubt he heard our raised voices from outside anyway, so who cares if he has a front row seat?

Some of our fights back home were legendary, drawing sharp knocks and threats about calling the police from Mrs. Jennings. That was until the woman decided we didn’t deserve a warning and called them on Belle the night I found her teetering on the ledge. Her hope of getting us evicted turned into a real possibility that only needed a plan and the right opportunity.

“I won’t allow it,” Belle decides, tipping her nose up. “You’re too tired.”

“I’m no more tired than you are.”

Belle scoffs.

I’m not above bum-rushing her at this point. I am tired, but I’m not too tired to take one more shadow from her. Besides, taking them has proven far easier than pushing them into their rightful place. I don’t want to admit she was right and tell her this process is becoming more and more difficult, as well as more painful with each transfer. She would stop it in an instant, which is the last thing any of us needs.

At first, it was easy to take and give. Hudson’s. Smee’s. Seoul’s. Kingston’s… But then they became a little more tedious.

I didn’t tell Belle or Hudson what was happening, but the more shadows I worked through, the more I had to comb through to find the right one, my fingers felt as if they were sifting through shards of glass. If I went slowly, carefully, I could avoid being nicked. But that only lasted so long.

Once I found the right one, it felt like I was squeezing that shard in my palm. When I pulled the right shadow into me, the pain eased immediately. Like a reprieve, calmness settled into my bones.

But the moment the shadow comprehended I had no intention of keeping it and I would be giving it away, it began to fight.

That shard in my palm suddenly turned sentient. The closer I got to giving the shadow away, the more it felt like the shard was pushing my hand toward my throat. When I surged it into the owner, it felt like the shard stabbed into the soft spot just under my chin.

The worst part is that I know it’s all Pan. None of it is real, no matter how real it feels.

Belle throws a gesture in my direction. “I wish you could see yourself as I do. If our roles were reversed, you would insist that I take a break – which is all I’m asking. I’m not asking you to stop entirely.”

Something dark slithers through my sinew, tangling in my joints.

Belle’s eyes widen and her whole body stiffens. “Ava…”

Hudson’s stare slices toward me.

“Your eyes,” my sister says.

The shadows on my skin lengthen and tighten, writhing like constrictors. I am being squeezed. Swallowed. Smothered.

The shadows speak in my mind.

Your sister is being greedy.

“You just want to keep them all so you can fly,” I accuse.

Belle gasps. “That’s not true at all!”

Something warm and wet falls from my nose and races to my lips. I taste copper.

Hudson rushes across the room, tearing his shirt over his head and holding it to my nostril while he tips my head back. “Pinch your nose here.” He demonstrates where I should place my fingers. “Breathe through your mouth.”

I do as he says.

“Look at me,” he says.

Without moving my head, I lift my eyes.

“Good.” He relaxes. “Lean against me. It’ll stop soon enough.”

My forehead hits his chest with a muted thud.

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