Page 124 of Victorious

“Eli,” said his roommate with an exasperated sigh. “Come on. We’re going to be late.”

He frowned, still struggling to get his bearings. “For what?”

Victor shook his head. “You really need to get more sleep.”

It was true. He’d been burning the candle at both ends for too long. Couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten more than a few hours. He started toward Victor, who’d already set off down the path.

“Hey, wait up.”

Eli quickened his pace, trying to close the gap, when the world around him began to rapidly lose focus, the leaves on the trees and the campus streaking like the sky. And in that moment, all Eli could think was No. Not yet. He wasn’t ready to let go.

“What’s happening?” he called out, but Victor didn’t turn back, his body smearing to a darkened blur right before the ground itself gave way, Eli’s foot plunging suddenly down into—

A hand wrenched him back.

Lockland University was gone, Victor Vale was gone, the pink-streaked night was gone, all replaced by the cold steel of the motel steps. Eli perched precariously on the top stair, Noah’s fists tangled in his jacket.

“What the hell was that?” demanded the other EO.

Eli twisted reflexively, throwing off his grip. He looked around, struggling to right himself. “Did you see it?”

Noah stared at him with those unnerving eyes. Swirling pools of color, a constant reminder of his wrongness. And Gabriel’s. “I saw you about to chuck yourself down a dozen metal steps,” he said. “You looked like you were sleepwalking.”

A dream—was that all it had been?

“Does Sydney have that kind of power?”

Eli shook his head. “I don’t know anyone who does.”

“Multiple agents down,” said a voice in both their ears. “Report.”

Eli whipped around. The roof. He’d been chasing after Sydney. Now he and Noah surged toward the stairs.

“Turner secured,” said Noah. “In pursuit of Clarke.”

“If you’d given me bullets,” sniped Eli as they climbed, “we wouldn’t have a problem.”

“If I’d given you bullets, the girl would be dead.”

Eli blew out a breath. It was true, the sight of Sydney had been provoking. But Gabriel’s orders had been clear—he couldn’t kill her. At least, not yet. “Not every shot is lethal. I could have slowed her down.”

They stepped out onto the roof and looked around.

“Where are they?” asked Noah, scanning the flat expanse for the agents who’d cornered Sydney up here. There was no sign of them, or her.

But something caught Eli’s eye—a red metal tin, its lid thrown back. It was empty now, but it hadn’t been. He crouched, and ran a fingertip along the inside, a film of gray coating his skin. A streak of the same substance stuck to the rooftop tar.

It looked like dust—or ash.

A bad feeling flickered through him.

Sydney Clarke could resurrect the dead.

Which was clearly what she’d done.

The only question was, what—or who—had she brought back?

Suspicion wicked through Eli like a flame. Not her, he thought.