Page 98 of Burn Like An Angel

It’s a living, breathing thing, stirring deep inside my gut. The world just fades away. I’ve never felt more at peace than when I’m creating. In these moments, I can control the emotions running rampant in me.

I test each brush and colour, familiarising myself with the equipment before sketching an outline with a thin charcoal. The image comes out of nowhere.

My hand steadies with each stroke and flick. The excruciating energy that’s kept me on the verge of a breakdown since we escaped pulls tight inside me. I’m uncoiling it, taking back control from the violent force and stretching it to breaking point.

Vivid blacks. Deep, burnished greens. I mix red and blue to form bubbling, purple storm clouds around the landscape that’s spilling from my brush. Using my pinkie finger, I blend the paint to create the perfect, fluffy shapes.

The persistent ache in my neck tells me hours have passed when I finally sit up, looking down at the scene I’ve crafted. It’s not the image I thought I was painting. Somewhere along the way, it changed.

When I look at Lennox and Raine, both slumped in their chairs, I realise I’m no longer shaking. I can breathe again. Think again. The coil has snapped and withered, leaving me to float back down.

I push the sketchpad over to Lennox so he can take a look. He picks it up, his expression neutral as he studies the scene closely for several long seconds.

“What is it?” Raine asks curiously.

Sliding the sketchpad back to me, Lennox keeps quiet to let me answer. I look back down at the watercolour sketch. Stormy, threatening skies. Smoking ruins. The destruction entombed in a woodland sarcophagus.

I’ve recreated the institute we fled. Harrowdean Manor in all its grandiose monstrosity—stained glass, gothic stone, the wrought-iron gates and ivy-wrapped crest pronouncing the lettersHM.

Only the manor no longer stands.

Harrowdean has been demolished.

I refocus on Raine. “The future.”

CHAPTER 15

LENNOX

BLEED – CONNOR KAUFFMAN

Packingthe supplies we’ve gathered over several cautious trips, I set the third and final backpack at the end of the double bed. I’m straining my ears for any sign of Xander and Ripley’s return. They’ve been gone for two hours.

We decided to take the plunge and test his counterfeit skills before moving on. Raine collected his medication yesterday without issue. Now it’s round two.

After working tirelessly to forge fake IDs and prescription slips, Xander has taken Ripley to collect her medication today. It can’t come a moment sooner. She’s been semi-lucid since the first manic symptoms manifested.

“They’ve been gone for too long.” Raine folds and unfolds his stick, obviously agitated. “How long does it take?”

“He’s taken her to the pharmacy in the next town over. We don’t want anyone asking questions about Xander’s forgery.”

“How long can we continue hiding like this? Living off scraps and stealing to survive?” He sighs. “We need help, Nox.”

“We’re not trusting those Sabre people.”

“Then who can we trust?”

“Ourselves.” I glance over the packed supplies again. “We just need to keep moving. I’m not letting any of us get taken back into custody or worse.”

“And if this situation rumbles on for years to come? If the investigation doesn’t find Incendia at fault or clear our names? What happens then?”

Ignoring him, I perch on the bed and watch the door. When they get back, we’ll set off. Xander found a sleepy bed and breakfast in a small town farther east. It’s a mammoth trek, but we can’t risk public transport right now.

“Lennox! I’m talking to you!”

“I don’t know, alright?” I bark at him. “I have no idea how this ends. My concern right now is getting through each day. We can’t think beyond that.”

“We can, and we should. This is untenable.”

---