Page 169 of Echoes of the Banshee

“B, I gave you the knife. Why didn’t you cut it off?”

“Kept slipping,” he mumbles. “Fingers wouldn’t… listen. Everything’s slipping.”

Panic I thought I was past returns at full force. I grab the cuff. My broken arm shrieks in pain. I channel my magic into the metal. The force sears my palms. The cuff fights me.

“Feels like I’m falling backward.”

His head lolls.

I snarl through gritted teeth, pulling harder until with a final, ringing crack, the shackle snaps.

B exhales a rattling breath, the tension in his body sagging. But he’s still far too pale. His eyes barely open.

I can’t waste time.

I close my eyes, pushing the terror down deep. I focus on Zair, on the draw of his steady presence in the distance. The world around me blurs, and I let go, slipping into the connection.

My library nook comes into focus; Zair, Mavrik, and Dylan are leaning over the table, books piled high and a scrying crystal hanging above a map.

“Thea! Oh my god, what happened to you!” he explodes. Dylan and Mavrik chorus in, asking what he found, but we ignore them.

“Zair, listen B and I were kidnapped. We’re free, but he’s hurt badly, and we don’t know where we are. It’s a warehouse district. I saw a street sign for Markson.”

Zair’s expression sharpens. He instructs Mavrik and Dylan to find it and then steps towards me.

“Are you okay, you look—”

“I’m fine,” I rush out. “B is worse, he needs to be healed. Get here fast, please.”

“I found it,” Dylan calls. “It’s only about fifteen minutes away. We’re coming.”

I return to B.

“Zair’s on his way,” I tell him. “Fifteen minutes. Just hang tight.”

B leans against the wall, his skin gray beneath the grime and dried blood. His lips twitch, forming a faint, tired smirk.

“Fif—fif—fifteen…” It takes him three tries to get it out. “That’s forever.”

I sink down beside him, letting him rest against my shoulder. His pulse flutters weakly under my fingers, his body trembling from lingering effects of the cuff.

The silence presses in. A breeze cuts through the alley, stirring the mildew-laced air. Somewhere in the distance, a bottle shatters. A dog barks.

Time drips.

I count his breaths, slow and shallow. I whisper his name to make sure he’s still with me.

Five minutes. Maybe less.

His head dips slightly. I shift him upright again, wiping sweat from his brow with my hand.

“Hey. Stay with me, okay?”

“Nowhere else I’d rather be,” he says, his words disjointed. “Home.”

“Don’t check out on me now,” I tell him.

He blinks slowly, pupils unfocused.