Page 41 of Storm of Stars
“Lower the plane!” I yelled again, louder this time. His head tilted slightly in my direction, but he still didn’t move.
This asshole was just going to let me burn—same as all of Praxis.
“Maybe I should go hang out by the fuel tank! I’m on fucking fire, and unless you want this whole damn plane to go up with me, dunk me in the goddamn lake!”
The aircraft dipped. Thank God. I climbed down a few rungs, gripping tight as the cold water rushed up. The moment it hit me, I let myself sink beneath the surface.
Relief came fast then left just as quickly. Now the burns screamed under the water’s pressure, the sting like a thousand needles driving into every raw patch of skin.
When the ladder lifted and the plane rose again, I climbed into the belly and collapsed in the open seating area, breath coming in ragged gasps. My heart pounded. My skin felt like it had been peeled back.
I stripped my shirt off next, or at least what was left of it. The fabric clung to the scorched skin, and I had to tear it free from the charred holes. I bit down on my tongue to keep from crying out. My entire left arm, shoulder, and half my torso were angry and raw, the skin bubbled and blackened. I didn’t even want to look at my leg yet.
I leaned back, head against the wall, eyes squeezed shut, trying to keep my mind from spiraling.
Out the open belly of the plane, I saw other aircrafts rising, Challengers dangling from their own rope ladders. I squinted, trying to make out who was still alive, but the figures were too small, just blurry shapes against the smoke and sky.
I needed Bex to be okay. Thorne and Briar too. Maybe they had an easier time with this trial, wooded terrain was more their style. But I doubted they faced off with fire frequently in their childhood.
My head swam, adrenaline wearing off. My skin above my heart felt tight, like the flames had tried to burn straight through to the muscle underneath.
My breathing was shallow. I forced it slower.
The ride was bumpy, brutal, really, and far too long. Every jolt of the plane rattled through me like shrapnel. I knew we were heading back toward the mainland, but I wasn’t sure I’d survive the two-hour flight to Praxis without collapsing entirely. Part of me hoped someone onboard recognized how bad I was, how much blood I’d lost, how unsteady my breaths had become. But I also knew—without question—I wouldn’t say a damn thing if they didn’t. I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.
Each jostle felt like a red-hot iron stabbing into my skin. I curled inward, trying to make myself small, to focus on the single, agonizing rhythm of breathing. In. Out. In. Out.
After what felt like an eternity, the plane began its slow descent. I tilted my head just enough to peer out the open cargo door, the cold wind slapping my face. Below us, a lake gleamed like fractured glass, and given the direction and distance we’d traveled from Praxis, I had a pretty solid idea of where we were. And more importantly, where we were landing.
Tall steel buildings pushed up from the horizon like jagged teeth. An urban sprawl emerged, a city base, no doubt. The Steelheart Collective. I recognized it from the broadcast screens. I’d seen its skyline during past Runs, but never in person. The buildings looked weathered, more worn than anything in Praxis, but still… functional. Strong.
Kade had always been obsessed with other Collectives. Always talking about seeing them for himself one day, getting out of Canyon. I don’t think this is what he meant when he said that. I don’t think he imagined our freedom from Canyon coming in the form of the Run.
“It’s as beautiful as I always thought it would be,” said a voice, low and soft, beside me.
I flinched. An involuntary, sharp movement that sent a spear of pain through my neck. I turned, teeth gritted. My eyeswidened as they landed on the figure before me where once there was nothing.
“Kade?” I breathed.
There he was. Just… there. Unchanged. His dark skin gleamed like the sky at midnight. His eyes, that light, sand-colored brown, full of fire and mischief. He looked like he always had.
My heart lurched, skipping painfully in my chest.
“How are?—?”
“I told you I was right to want out of Canyon,” he interrupted, flashing me that familiar, cocky grin that I had missed something fierce.
I shook my head, even though it hurt like hell. “You’re dead,” I said, more to myself than to him. Maybe if I said it out loud, I’d believe it. But it didn’t change what I saw. He looked real.
He felt real.
He tilted his head, gaze drifting out the door to the Collective below. “That’s unfortunate,” he said. “I think I really would’ve liked to see this.”
A lump swelled in my throat. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I wanted to reach out, to touch him, but I didn’t. I was afraid of what I’d find, or what I wouldn’t.
“Am I…?” I began, my voice weak and hoarse.
“Dead?” he asked, meeting my gaze. I nodded. “No. Not yet, anyway.”
