Page 90 of The Light Within

The men shouted, waving their guns in warning, but Julien wasn’t listening. His mind screamed for the guns to be removed, to be gone—now. In an instant, the energy built up inside him released, a blinding flash of power ripping through the air. The guns exploded in their hands, the metallic shards bursting outward in a deadly spray.

No time for hesitation—Julien reached for windmotes, channelling the shattered metal towards them.

The two men barely had time to register their shock before the shards tore through them, ripping through flesh and bone with brutal efficiency. Their bodies crumpled to the floor, blood pooling around them, eyes wide with the realisation that they’d just met their end.

Julien released his hold on the motes immediately, falling to his knees and pressing his fist to his mouth. The power coursing through him vanished like a snuffed-out candle, leaving him with two dead bodies.

Putain.

What have you done?

A noise from the balcony had Julien spinning. Another man, frozen still, stared through the open doors, taking in the scene. How much had they seen? Julien’s heart lurched as they locked eyes. He’d need to kill them now, too.

In a blink, the figure jumped over the balcony railing, disappearing. Julien took a single step towards it, but then a noise came from Cinn’s body, slumped on the floor—a choked cough.

Alive.

Somehow, it wasn’t a surprise. Perhaps because Julien couldn’t possibly fathom a world without him.

He threw himself down beside Cinn, bringing his heavy head onto his lap. His eyes were wide open, blinking rapidly. Desperately.

Julien ran his fingers through Cinn’s hair.

Alive. Awake…

“Cinn?” Julien lightly slapped his cheek.

His fingers grazed over traces of something fine, something granular. A cool sensation seeped across his skin. Julien held his fingers up to the light. Something white…

Ahh.

Julien should kick himself. Of course. They’d drugged Cinn with Frostbite.

He could already feel the effects of the miniscule amount he’d touched numb his fingers. With his sleeve, he brushed the remaining traces from Cinn’s cheek.

“Hold on.” He delivered a swift promise in the shape of a kiss to Cinn’s forehead and was rewarded with some more blinks.

Julien stood and surveyed the bodies. Steeled himself—this was going to take some mental preparation.

The floor was a chaotic tangle of limbs and blood, peppered with small shards of bullets. Julien wasn’t squeamish, but this… wasn’t pretty.

After a deep breath, Julien crouched, then rolled the closest body over, covering his hands in hot, thick blood. He avoided looking closely at the dead man’s face, torn to shreds, clumps of skin hanging loose. It was nobody he recognised, he was sure.

A leather sling bag hung around the man’s waist, now partially torn. Julien pulled out its contents, sifting through grimy receipts, small knives, and a few crumpled maps of Paris. Interesting, but his mind was solely fixated on finding the red pellets these two had surely carried—the antidote to Frostbite. Finally, his fingers closed around a small plastic cylinder.

Gotcha.

Without wasting a moment, he grabbed Cinn’s chin, yanking it down and forcing the antidote into his mouth. The pellet dissolved almost instantly, fizzing on his tongue.

Julien held Cinn close, his hand gently cradling the back of his head as he waited.

Cinn’s chest began to rise and fall with more rhythm, each breath deeper and more deliberate than the last. His arm muscles twitched, an elbow jolting out, jamming painfully into Julien’s side.

“Holy fuck,” Cinn croaked out.

And then, as they gazed into each other’s eyes, reunited after their near-death experience, Cinn said those magic words: “Get me a cigarette?”

Julien dropped his hold on him, sending Cinn sprawling to the floor. It wasn’t like he’d expected a gushing thank you for saving his life, or anything. “You’re joking.”

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