Page 301 of Midnights
I nod, keeping my expression neutral as he walks out of the room. My heart hammers against my ribs and I know something isn’t right, I just can't put my finger on it. Or maybe it's just that I passed out in a random parking lot, and now I'm in a stranger's house.
Muffled voices drift in and out, sounding distant and warped, like I’m listening through thick glass. Someone is calling my name and I try torespond, but it’s like my lips aren’t mine, like my body isn’t mine. Why can’t I move?
The voices fade as darkness pulls me under again, deeper this time. I don’t know how long I drift suspended in a place between waking and unconsciousness.
My magic is there, but it’s dulled. I try to reach for it a couple of times, but it’s like grasping at smoke. What the hell is going on?
The world sharpens and suddenly I hear the hum of traffic, the scent of asphalt, and see the glow of streetlights. I can't tell if this is a memory or I'm dreaming.
I’m stepping out of the restaurant, holding my phone. I press it to my ear, and my voice shakes. “Kane?”
Static.
A harsh crackle distorts the line as his voice breaks apart, shifting between something familiar and something wrong.
“Kane, I think I need a favor,” I manage. “Something’s wrong, and I need you to come get me.”
The static deepens, swallowing his response. Then, nothing.
I jolt awake with a sharp gasp, lungs burning, and my heart slamming against my ribs as the storm rages outside. Rain hammers the windows and I can hear the wind tearing through the trees.
I’m still on the couch I was on earlier. Still here, wherever here is.
The air in the room is heavy in a way that has nothing to do with my own exhaustion. I close my eyes, reaching for the storm, trying to feel it, to pull at its power like I’ve been practicing for weeks. But it’s too distant. It feels like it’s miles away. I guess that means the storm outside is real.
Every breath I take sends a wave of nausea rolling through me. Muffled voices drift from somewhere beyond the walls, but it’s too quiet to catch anything.
I force my eyes to stay open, my thoughts slowly untangling as I take in my surroundings. The room is dimly lit, with the faint scent of leather and cologne lingering in the air. I’m on a couch, in what seems to be his living room.
My chest tightens, a desperate urge to leave crawls under my skin like a living thing. I need to get out of here, I need to be anywhere but here, in a stranger’s house, feeling like my body isn’t mine.
A cool breeze filters in through an open window, cutting through the thick haze in my mind. It’s a small comfort, but I latch onto it, trying to steady myself. This doesn’t feel the same as what happened in Nveri. This is very different. I know I didn't burn out, because I didn't use any magic, so why did I pass out?
I need to leave. Now.
What I need to do is call Kane. No matter how smooth or accommodating Mike may seem, being here feels wrong.
As if summoned by my thoughts, Mike steps into the room with a glass of water in his hand. His expression is calm, which helps. A little.
“Hey, you’re awake. By the time I came back earlier, you were already asleep.”
He holds the glass out to me, watching me carefully. “Here, you should drink this. Just take it slow.”
I take the cup from him, the cool condensation grounding me a little. But the hesitation doesn't leave, so I keep my grip careful and my sips small.
“Thanks.” My voice is wrecked, and I try to clear my throat, pushing for casual. “Did you mention something about a doctor earlier?”
Mike nods, but his face gives nothing away. “Yeah, he’s in the other room. He’d like to ask you a few questions, just to make sure you’re okay.”
Oh, great. Story time with a stranger. Anxiety flares, and my eyes dart around the room.And where's my stuff?
I shift slightly, trying not to move too much or I might actually throw up. “You didn’t happen to grab my bag, did you?” I force a small laugh, hoping it sounds effortless, even though it hurts like hell. “I had it with me when I left the restaurant, but it’s not here.”
A thoughtful look flickers across his face. “I don’t recall you having a bag,” he says after a moment. “But I'll check the car. Maybe it’s in the backseat. If not, I can have my driver go back to the restaurant to find it.”
I nod, forcing an easy smile despite the tension tightening in my chest. “That would be great. Thanks.”
His lips curve into a reassuring smile, but it feels a little too polished. He lingers a moment before finally turning away, his footsteps fading down the hall. The second he’s gone, I let out a breath and sink deeper into the couch.
