Page 67 of Fuse

“He is right.” Fershan ticks his head in a matching nod of firm purpose. “You have the most important job right now, Emma,” he murmurs. “Before the darkness takes him completely, remind him of the light he must return for.”

“The light we’ll bring him back to.” Wade circles and faces me in full. His posture is full of purpose, and his gaze gleams with a strength it’s never had before. “And damn it, Em, we will bring him back.”

“Without the wicked witch and her ding dongs.”

Even when Wade scrubs a hand along his jaw and mutters, “Dude, no more Judy Garland bingeing for you,” I can’t summon even a smile. Even thinking of Faline without her damn “ding dongs” isn’t pulling down the fuzzy feels for me right now.

Not as Reece’s hand goes as lax as a rag doll’s in my grip.

Not as his body goes so still and his breaths turn so shallow, I splay a hand across his chest, desperately feeling for his heartbeat.

Not as the last tiny ember of our connection fades from my spirit…leaving me in a vast darkness of my own.

A night in which I’m locked and will continue to be trapped. Until we figure out a way to break Reece out of Faline’s wavelength that won’t involve giving him a lobotomy or keeping him in a coma for weeks—or even months.

But right now, this is all we can do.

To keep him locked away from Faline, he has to stay locked away from us as well.

“But not forever.”

I whisper to Reece—and to myself—the acute vow of my heart. The organ is already threatening to explode out of my chest, just for the chance to burrow into his and stay nestled there forever. Those desperate beats take up the slack for the sparse thumps of his. I flatten my hand across his sternum, grateful for every soft tap I get in return. Cherishing every sign of life his body will give me despite the shroud of midnight in which we’ve trapped it.

“Hang on, my bold, brave Zeus. We’ll figure this out, and you’ll be back to slinging lightning at the world in no time. I promise you, okay?” I pause and wait, but for what, I don’t know. His stillness should reassure me, but it doesn’t. There’s just…nothing for me to hold on to. Not a single rasp. Not the barest sigh. Not even a hint of his smoke and cinnamon in my nostrils.

Which only leaves one last window.

Faith.

The blindest, hardest, most desperate version of the stuff.

He’s still in there. He’s still listening. You know he is. You know it.

Now, you have to believe it.

“I do.” I declare it on a thread of breath, pouring all my strength into the clasp of my fingers around his. “I do believe, baby. In you. In the you that’s still inside me. I believe.”

“Baby girl.” It’s not exactly the response I was yearning for, but Lydia’s murmur is still a welcome addition to the air. She doesn’t add to it until she’s done spreading out the blanket she’s brought, the velour throw from our bed upstairs, helping me cover Reece from the waist down. “You look like the walking dead, sweetie.”

“Thanks,” I deadpan. “Though technically, wouldn’t that be the standing dead?”

“Doesn’t matter.” She cups my shoulders from behind. “You need rest, and you need it now.”

“Then bring me one of the rockers from the living room.”

“I mean sleep rest. As in, laying your head on a pillow, in a bed.”

“Then bring a bed in here.”

“I’ve brought myself in here.” She flashes her phone into my line of vision. “And I know where to get you if anything beeps or buzzes strangely. Now go. Please. At least for an hour or two.”

“Not happening, ’Dia.”

“Fine,” she says breezily. “Then I guess I’ll have to use this other handy speed-dial button. Sawyer’s always so ready to help me out whenever I jingle…”

I spin and reach for her phone—but as the wench has made clear, I really am past the point of exhaustion. All too easily, she swings away, flashing a catty smirk along with the landing page displaying Sawyer’s picture and number.

“You’re such a bitch.”