Page 37 of Angel Lost

I squint at the screen then glance up at the giant timer bobbing above my head.

The air ripples between me and the priests and an archway appears. Because of course it does. Cautiously, I move toward it. Reaching out, I graze my fingers across the surface. Tingling runs down my shoulders, my arms, and tiny sparks fly from my fingers into the arch. The air shimmers like an oil slick. A portal. Great.

I heave a breath, and step into the unknown. My feet hit dirt in the space beyond the portal and I push my nausea down. In the dusk, a dirt track leads away, past a well in one direction and toward a cluster of ramshackle buildings in the other. Somewhere poor then. This isn’t exactly the epicenter of Elystria. The stone wall of the building closest to me shimmers, just for a second—like heat haze or a trick of the light—before solidifying again.Simulation. My pulse slows.

Glowing wisps of light float from the cover of a nearby forest, hazily beautiful. Soft pulses of crimson and gold, like fireflies caught in slow motion, they float toward the village. A man in worn clothing rushes to the well, a ragged boy on his heels. With quick, jerky turns of the crank he draws up water, glancing frequently toward the forest, toward the lights. I pause, watching them. Is it them I’m meant to protect? The kid hops from foot to foot, flapping his hands in agitation.

The bucket full, they carry it back between them. Water sloshes on the ground as they rush. I step out of the shadows, and the man blanches. “Get inside before dark, aether,” he mutters.

How does he know I’m aether?

The kid tugs his sleeve, glaring at me. “Why warn her? Aethers are the reason wisps are sent here.”

The man grunts and starts walking again.

“Wait.” I reach out, catching his arm. “What do you mean? Why?”

He peers at my hand on his arm. “Wisps are hunters. They lurk in the forest until dusk, waiting.” He talks in a clipped monotone. “If one touches you, it burrows into your nervous system like a parasite. They feed on your rage, your fear. They make you want to hurt. And by the time you realize it—” He glances at the child, not finishing the sentence.

“Maybe I can help…” It might be a simulation, but something about the sorrow in his eyes makes me want to offer him reassurance.

The man snorts. “Only way to stop a wisp is before it settles in. If you’re strong enough, aether, you might—” He hesitates, gaze flicking toward the lights. “—might be able to blast them out with an aether pulse. But most aren’t.”

“Dad.” The boy tugs frantically. “Dad, they’re too close.”

The sky has darkened quickly, helped by a giant storm cloud, and the wisps, whatever they are, are suddenly only meters away.

The man drops the bucket, water draining rapidly into the parched earth, scoops the child up, and bolts toward the nearest house. A red glow appears around the side of the building right beside them. The man turns, shielding the child in his arms, and the wisp lands on his neck. A flicker of red sinks into his skin.

He shudders, his breath hitching, and drops the boy. The kid spills onto the dirt, staring wide-eyed up at his father.

For a heartbeat, nothing happens. Then, a shudder runs through the man, sharp, violent. His breath rattles, his fingers twitch. He lifts his hands,first toward his own face, as if confused, then down, down toward the child.

Protect. This is it. This is what I’m meant to defend them against. I glance at the dark bands on my wrists and tug my aether forward. It whooshes into my palms, eager. Too much. I yank hard on the bond, demanding the boys take more. The center of my chest aches as it drains away. Quickly, I grab for the man, pulsing a sharp blast of aether into him. He staggers, then rights himself. My breath catches.It should have worked. But I didn’t hit him with all of it. I held back.

Shuddering, he reaches for the kid again, grasping his own son by the throat. Shit, shit, shit. Not enough. Not nearly enough.

The boy screams, thrashing as his father’s grip tightens. With a jerky motion, the man throws the kid, hard, against the wall. The sickening crack lodges in my brain. The world narrows. My breath won’t come. The boy crumples like a marionette with its strings cut, his neck at an unnatural angle. Raising my hands, I blast again, harder this time. Something sizzles, a plume of smoke rising from the man’s body up into the night sky.

He collapses, trembling, and covers his face with his hands.

My feet heavy, I move toward the kid, fingers outstretching, checking…even though I know deep down. No pulse. Nothing. I shake my head once.

A scream of anguish tears the night sky.

“You could have stopped it. You didn’t use all your power. Not the first time.” He scrambles past me, scooping the limp body into his lap. “I hope all aethers die.”

I screw my eyes shut, blocking out his accusatory look.At least I kept my aether under wraps. I might have failed the simulation, but I kept my aether hidden. I succeeded.

I whisper the standard command: “Endsimulation.”

Nothing happens. No flickering walls. No reset. No break in reality. Just the quiet, rasping breath of the man hunched over his son’s body. The ragged, hiccuping sobs of a grief too vast to contain.

“End simulation,” I try again. Louder. Desperate.

Still nothing.

My breath catches in my throat, a cold, creeping pressure settling over my chest. This isn’t how simulations work. They have fail-safes. They have limits.

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