Page 215 of Lana Pecherczyk
“Wait.”
Ash turned back and met River’s eyes.
“You’re my brother,” he said. “My home.”
Ash’s gaze flicked to the bad tunnel. “He is, too.”
River stared at one of his longest friends. From the start, Ash had been a rock of fortitude for their triad, an ever-present company River and Cloud relied on for strength.
“We never deserved you,” he blurted.
Ash stilled. “What?”
“I should have said this long ago.” Now wasn’t the time, but River was quickly learning that unspoken words were as powerful as silence. “Me and Cloud. We’re fucked in the head. But you, your heart…”
A rueful, tragic yet knowing smile touched Ash’s lips. “It wasn’t my heart that saved us from floating.”
“It wasn’t mine.”
They stared down the pipe. Into the darkness. Toward the one who’d refused to leave this Wellforsaken place without Ash on the day they’d first met. Toward the one who cried over being left behind as a fledgling. The one whochoseto hurt himself rather than give up on Rory.
The one who kept the truth of his pain a secret, all these years, because he knew not even those closest to him would understand.
“If you find them first,” Ash whispered. “Send me a message.”
“You too.”
Chapter
Sixty-Seven
River ignited a ball of fire in his palm with mana. The moment he stepped into the tunnel’s mouth, the sense of wrongness intensified. The expanse stretched ahead, rusty pipe walls catching light from his mana-fueled palm. A few more steps in, the light winked out.
He tried to summon mana again, but it sputtered and failed.
It shouldn’t fail.
A Guardian can still be cut from the Well. Desecrated land is still desecrated.
River groaned at the memory. Scrubbed his face.
Fucking great.
One step.
Then another.
He forced himself forward until pain erupted, ripping through him like acid. He stumbled, catching himself against the corroded wall, and hissed when it burned. It shouldn’t burn. He was a Guardian. He might feel the pain of disconnection in desecrated spaces, but not from contact with forbidden substances.
His wings spasmed, feathers shuddering. His stomach heaved, throat burning with bile.
He instinctively foundPeacemaker’shilt.
The weapon responded in his palm.
Warm. Familiar. Present.
River gritted his teeth and forced another step. The pain doubled, then tripled. Wildfire consumed him from the inside. His wings thrashed, knocking loose rust scales that rained like blood flakes.
