Page 2 of Shadowvein

Where is the street I was standing on?

Where is the rain?

Where is the Chicago winter?

There’s only sand. The kind that shouldn’t exist in the middle of downtown Chicago.

“Hello?” My voice vanishes into silence. No echo. No answer. “Is there anyone here?”

This has to be a mistake. A prank. Or I was hit by a car. Maybe I’m in a coma. There’s no way I’m alone. In a desert. With no memory of how I got here.

Only a second ago, I was just crossing the street, rain on my face and shopping bags in my hand.

Whereismy shopping? It’s gone. So is my umbrella.

A slightly hysterical laugh bubbles up. Why the hell am I worrying about my shopping when I’m in the middle of a desert thatshouldn’texist?

My heart lurches, wild and frantic. Confusion is rapidly being smothered by fear. The kind that whispers this might actually be real. That I’m not going to wake up and find it was all a dream. Or I hit my head and am lying on the sidewalk.

“This isn’t right.” I say it again, louder now. “Thisisn’tright!”

The heat is suffocating. Sweat beads along my spine, under my arms, between my thighs. The layers I’m wearing—winter boots, jeans, and a wool-lined coat—trap heat like insulation sealed too tight, turning my clothes into a furnace.

I peel off the coat with shaking fingers and drop it. It lands with a soft thud in the sand, instantly dusted over as if the desert is already trying to claim it.

I bend forward, hands braced on my knees, and suck in a breath.

I can’t let panic take over. I have to stay calm.

Think.

Think.

You’re fine. This isn’t real.

But the heatisreal.

The sting of salt on my lips is real.

The sound of wind sifting through dunes—also real.

“Oh my god.” The words fall from my lips in a horrified whisper. “What the hell is happening to me?”

I press a hand against my chest, right over my heart. The frantic beat does nothing to calm me.

I’m not okay. Not even close.

A sob escapes me before I can stop it, and I slap a hand over my mouth, blinking through tears. Panic is constricting my airway, making it hard to breathe.

Wait.

My phone.

I dive for my coat, flip it over, and dig through the pockets. My fingers curl around my phone like it’s a lifeline. I tap the screen with a shaking finger.

Nothing happens.

“No. No, no, no.”

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