Page 12 of Storm

Spinning my head, I see the damage for the first time. The med bay door wedged open with a crowbar. The nurse who took my solence screaming at the broken entrance’s threshold.

This is not good.

It’s infinitely bad. No one runs from the hollow. Not unless they are facing death.

Death. That singular word haunts my very nightmares each night as I sleep next to a wheezing Mam, but now, it’s nipping at my bare heels.

Nix bypasses everyone around us, his unevenly cut, dark brunette locks floating before me, locking into memory. Will I have to commit every part of him? Is this the last time I’ll get him like this?

My mind, hazy with regret, slows us down. The man in question turns to give me a look. A look of dread and sorrow. It expresses the words he doesn’t need to say. I’m fucking sorry. So damn sorry.

I haven’t been given many choices in this life. Life has always been prescribed to me. But, if I had to choose him, I’d do it again and again and again. And if that meant death, I’d choose it too. He is the only good thing in my life. Him and Mam. Everything else is background noise. I want none of it if I am without them.

With the market bustling, people slowly curl around us. My chin juts out, knowing this is probably the end of the road for us. Tears form. I can’t let them go.

His head tilts, and he propels me into a full-on run, hauling me through crates and market stall carts, the odd can falling in our wake, weaving around fellow farmers, and tugging me into a secluded hallway. One I’ve never paid much notice to. An area off-limits to us. Not with ropes, but of the mind. A commotion follows, and we make it to an unmarked door. Not giving me a moment to breathe, Nix unceremoniously shoves me through to the other side.

Inside are our forgotten sacks and a big black truck, the roller door to the back lifted and waiting. Why aren’t there keepers at these doors?

“Storm, look at me.” Impatiently, Nix grabs my face. Brown meets blue. I really look at him, wanting to commit him to the pictures of my mind in intricate detail. The white scar on his left cheek from when he fell down a rod at twelve years old. The dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep doing double the work—for me, for Mam. The cleft of his chin. My hand naturally travels to trace it.

My body locks up as I touch his heated skin. Melancholy follows, and I find it hard to look away. “You’re going to hide on that truck, and you’re going to forget this place exists.”

I baulk. “What are you talking about? I’m not leaving you or Mam. Are you crazy?”

I would rather die.

“Hell, Storm.” Fingers dig into my neck as he holds my jaw. I cherish the pain, hoping they will leave marks of him. “I told Mam she should’ve told you.” My heart leaps from my chest at the strange statement.

“Listen to me, because I’m only saying this once.” Hearing on high alert, I can’t take my eyes from the clashing golds and deep browns of his being. I don’t want him to say the rest, but he speaks regardless. “You hold 50 percent Halo solence.” His whisper is hoarse.

A fucking hollow. I can’t be one of them.

No.

Never.

I can’t.

I won’t⁠—

Acid churns in my stomach, that feeling you get after eating spoilt fruit.

My head wants to shake back and forth. Frustratingly, Nix holds me in place.

This is worse than death.

I’m one of them.

The scum of the earth. That makes me scum. That means they will take me.

I’m finally getting my wish.

I’m finally getting what I wanted.

Laughter bubbles up in my throat, but it is instantly squashed by the rising bile.

I want to crumble at Nix’s feet, but he continues to hold me up, and I don’t understand why he still wants to touch a damn hollow. The cuffs at my wrists burn.