Page 155 of The Girl Who Inherits the Dead

“Maison,” Delina starts, and his eyes snap up to her. “Can I do this?”

It turns her stomach, too, but he nods.

Without waiting, she lets her mind sink into the sensations of his leg, then jerks the kneecap over with her hands.

He chokes, halfway between a yell and a grunt that echoes along the stark white walls, and pain slams into her, sharp before abrupt relief. He sags against the wall, briefly, before blinking, tears in his eyes.

“Oh my god,” Gurlien mutters, then Delina quickly tries to wrap the knee, to provide some sort of stabilization. The entire joint feels wobbly, uncertain of itself, but the pressure is another bit of relief.

“I’m so sorry,” Delina whispers to Maison, whose head is swimming.

“No, it’ll be good,” he says, weakly, like he’s not even paying too much attention to the words falling out of his mouth. He slumps forward, his head hitting her chest.

“I got you,” Delina says, and takes a brief moment to stroke his hair back, before she lets herself look around the hallway.

It’s featureless, the fluorescent lights bouncing off the polished tile and walls, stretching on for far too long.

There’s a box mounted to the wall, a few meters away from them, and another one at the far edge. No doors to go in and out, no windows, nothing.

And they’re going to have to walk down it, with Maison still blinking back tears of pain and Chloe staring numbly in front of her face, mechanically chomping on her food.

She exchanges a quick glance with Gurlien, and his face is grim.

“This isn’t good,” he says, which echoes what she’s feeling, but saying it feels wrong. “Any dead on this floor?”

Strangely, the answer is no, but she squeezes her eyes shut, tries to feel something. Anything.

But there’s no other beings but them.

“Absolutely nothing, except for the other bug in my pocket,” Delina says, before she lets her hands rest on Maison’s knee, stretching his leg out.

He grunts, his jaw clenching, before he raises his chin. “I’ll be okay.”

“Yeah,” Delina says, before handing him another protein bar. “Still eat this.”

Gurlien pushes himself up to standing, carefully approaching the box on the wall.

It’s roughly the size of a fire extinguisher box, the same featureless bright white of the rest of the hallway.

“It’s the first of the control runes,” Gurlien says, opening it and peering inside. “Written in India ink.”

Maison nods at her. “Can you help me up?”

“Is that wise?” Delina asks, but he braces himself on the wall, then, just like they would do if one of them was sick, helps him to stand, before she tucks her shoulder under his arm, letting him lean his weight on her.

He steps, experimentally, on the bad knee and it wobbles. The bandage helps, the pressure something, but it needs more, much more.

“When we get out, I am finding a safe hospital for you and taking you to it,” Delina declares, and he nods, his face pinched. “And then you are gonna stay the fuck off of your leg until I can’t tell you’re in pain anymore.”

Still, she walks him, limping, over to the box.

Sure enough, looping runes, beautiful in indigo brush strokes, incomprehensible.

“Don’t ruin these,” Maison instructs, leaning heavily against her, and a small, remote part of her, is alarmed at how much. “These aren’t to take down, we need both sets intact to deactivate them.”

“That’s what I thought,” Gurlien says, scowling at them. “We need someone to flick this switch, then go to that one,” he throws a nod down the hallway, “and flick the same switch.”

Delina peers at the beautiful markings. “Then we can destroy it?”

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