Page 26 of Fuse

Zero.

Reece, clearly putting all that together a few seconds faster, yanks me against his chest with a fierce grip. “Foley!” he roars over my head. “What the fuck?”

“Sawyer! Stop!” It’s Lydia now, though she interrupts herself with a bunch of grunts, conveying her valiant fight to hold him back. “You can’t just—”

But Sawyer cuts her off by opening the door. Correction. Opening it and slamming it to the wall so hard, I’m shocked the thing is still on its hinges. Or maybe it’s not—not that I’m given a chance to double-check, being yanked in by Reece so my naked form is flat against him.

“For the love of fuck, Foley!” He rips a pashmina from a hook in the closet to cover my important bits in the nick of time. “The house better be burning down—”

“It isn’t,” Sawyer snaps.

“Then what the hell—”

“It’s worse.”

“What is?”

“The city.”

“The city…where?”

“It’s burning down.”

“What are you talking about?” I blurt it the second Lydia helps me scramble back into my robe, my movements sharp but shaky. My blood is running on alternating taps of scalding and freezing, the trepidation only enforced by the glance I get from my sister. She already knows why Sawyer looks like he’s just seen the start of a zombie apocalypse and the implosion of the sun at the same time. She knows—because her red-rimmed gaze tells me she’s seen the same damn thing. “Shit, you two.” I cinch my robe so hard, the pressure bites into my waist. “Do we have to play charades here?”

Sawyer answers that with a fierce shake of his head, which breaks him out of his strange catatonia. He wheels around, snatches the TV remote, and clicks the green button.

As soon as the screen fills with an image, Reece clutches my hand. Grips it with brutal force. I barely register the pain—because I’m doing the same to him.

“Dear fuck,” he finally utters. Then steps slowly forward, taking me with him…

As we gape at a live feed of downtown LA…

That really does look like a zombie apocalypse has hit it.

The cone at the top of City Hall is no longer there. Same with the corrugated crown that defines the top of the US Bank building. There are burn marks all over Disney Hall, as if a titan with matches has indulged some parkour fun all over the distinctive metallic wings. The Wilshire Grand’s iconic spire has been toppled over and teeters at the top of the skyscraper, looking like a giant needle about to tumble off the edge of a table.

A giant threaded needle.

But what’s forming the “thread” that’s blowing in the wind at the end of the thing?

As if Reece has sheared the thought from my brain, he pushes even closer to the screen, aligning shoulder to shoulder with Sawyer. “What the hell am I looking at?” he demands. “What is that shit?”

“Strands of electricity.” Surprisingly, Lydia supplies the answer. It gives me an excuse to really look at her, though the shock of doing so makes me gulp on a throat gone utterly arid. Even the night we spent in Faline’s captivity didn’t turn my girl gladiator of a sister this glaringly scared.

“Oh, my God.” I mumble it so fast, it’s nearly one word of rushed horror. “The Brocade. Neeta…and the team…”

“No casualties at the hotel,” Sawyer supplies—sending a look to Reece that’s as transparent with its bad news as the man was with the good.

Sure enough, Reece follows up with a low growl. “No human casualties.”

Sawyer, already watching Reece track a glare to the area where the distinct golden glass of the Brocade’s spire should be, doesn’t bother sugarcoating the rest. “Neeta was smart. She evacuated it from the top down. Thankfully, the hotel was only half occupied. They got everyone out before—”

“How much is gone?” Reece’s interjection is like a vocalized dagger.

Still no needless sugar from Sawyer. “Top fifteen floors. And all of the rooftop garden, of course.”

As I gasp, Reece grabs my hand and squeezes. The garden has been a project of both our hearts and employed twenty of RRO’s most promising candidates for careers in sustainable design.